


The Alternate Years

by hafital



Series: The Lifetimes of Steve Rogers [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), F/M, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, This is not a love triangle story, Time Travel, i have no idea how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafital/pseuds/hafital
Summary: To achieve his goal, Steve travels the slow way through an alternate timeline. What changes does he make? And what are the consequences that follow?~*~He had done it, though. He had achieved what he had longed for in the depths of his heart since he’d come out of the ice. Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes were together again. The Howling Commandos were together again. It brought a stinging bereavement to shade his profound relief. A part of him died, watching this, the part that he had been holding on to for so long. He could let go now, but it was painful as much as it was also beautiful.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Howard Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Thor, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: The Lifetimes of Steve Rogers [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686673
Comments: 42
Kudos: 74





	1. 1947, New Jersey

**Author's Note:**

> This is part four of a five part series that explores Steve Rogers's travels through the multiverse. The entire series is already written. Part Five: The Promise, and the Epilogue, will be posted next week. 
> 
> A time traveling Steve Rogers makes tagging stories accurately difficult. If you came here by way of the Steve/Peggy tag or the Steve/Bucky tag and are looking for romance, you might be disappointed. But I sincerely hope you stick around and read it anyway! 
> 
> No one warned me that rewriting history would be so difficult and take so many words. I have no one but myself to blame. 
> 
> Except for the first part of the series and the epilogue, most of this series takes place entirely within the five seconds after Steve disappears from the platform. It is canon compliant, but since 95% of it takes place in alternate timelines, it is also canon divergent. :D
> 
> This story uses the Alternate Timeline theory of Avengers: Endgame.
> 
> Thank you to killabeez and slb44 for the beta!
> 
> If you would like more information about characters and pairings before reading, please see the end notes.

Fall leaves crunched beneath his feet as he walked down the sidewalk, checking the street names against the address written in his notebook. Compared to the bitter cold of Brooklyn in January of 2021, November in Wheaton, New Jersey in the year 1947 felt almost sub-tropical. There was a slight nip in the air with a gentle breeze that tossed the leaves around.

Perhaps it should be odd to return to this time. He saw the hair and clothing fashions of his day, the familiar style of cars driving in the streets. Was this what any soldier might feel, after years abroad, returning home from war?

He stood outside the yellow house, deciding between walking straight up to the front door and knocking or approaching her on the street, out in the open. The decision was taken from him when a car honked as it drove past and someone yelled, “Look where you’re going.”

“Sorry!” called Peggy Carter. She carried a bag of groceries while reading from a bound report, crossing the street rather recklessly and not looking where she was going. The report must be important, because she didn’t stop reading, trying to hold onto her groceries while also searching in her handbag. 

Steve watched her almost miss the step onto the sidewalk, pausing to turn a page in the report, the groceries starting to slide halfway down before she hoisted the bag up again. 

Peggy was dressed in fall colors, with her soft brown hair in waves, pinned up beneath a hat. The serum gave him perfect memory, but nothing compared to the real thing. “Can I help you carry that?” he asked. 

“Oh, no,” she said, not looking up from her report, rooting around in her handbag for her keys. “I can manage.”

“Please.” He stepped closer into her direct line of vision, blocking her path to the front door. 

It took a second. She became very still, her eyes on the page of the report until they dropped first to his feet, raking slowly up to his face. The groceries fell with a dull thunk. Then the report slipped from her hand. Her handbag, her keys. Everything fell to the ground as she gasped. 

“Hi, Peggy,” he said. 

“Steve?” The uncertainty in her voice, the painful hope. She touched him as if he would vanish on her, hands shaking. “Are you real?” 

“I think so,” he said, taking her hands. She wasn’t wearing gloves. Her fingers were cold.

“Is it really you?” She was afraid, he could tell, though she didn’t panic or pull away. 

“Yes, it’s really me.”

She shook her head, even as she touched the fabric of his shirt. “What happened? How?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, and then the full weight of everything that had happened since he jumped onto Schmidt’s plane and left her and Phillips in that car in the Alps—it all came crashing down. It hurt to speak. “I didn’t want to miss our date. Saturday, at the Stork Club. I’m sorry I’m so late.”

Her grip tightened. He thought of the other times he’d said similar words. He couldn’t do it again. She placed one palm against his cheek to wipe a tear, lightly touching his hair, taking in the details of his face. He wasn’t the same young man she’d known before. “You came home,” she said, and then brought her arms around him and laid her head against his chest.

For the first time in their history, he held her for as long as he liked, for as long as she would let him, with no pressure to leave, no mission at stake, no failing memory. He laid his cheek down on the top of her head. “Well I couldn’t leave my best girl. Not when she owes me a dance.” 

Though everything was so new, and they were afraid to stop touching for longer than a few seconds, they eventually made it into the house, to distracted to close the door.

*

He woke in the middle of the night, in her bed. A few beams of moonlight filtered in through the window, enough for him to see that Peggy was awake and sitting up and watching him as he slept. 

“Did I wake you?” she asked. She had put on a silk robe and had a slight crease between her eyes as she continued to study him. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s all right,” he said. He reached to turn the bedside lamp on, and they both winced at the harsh electric light. Peggy took a silk scarf from a drawer in the side table and threw it over the lamp, dimming the light and creating shadows and patterns across the room. 

Somehow, seeing Peggy in her robe felt more intimate than being naked with her had been. The privilege of being with her in her bedroom and in her bed, which was a private space, struck him hard. Her closet door stood open, revealing the colorful splash of her dresses, her shoes jumbled on the floor. A pair of stockings had been tossed over the back of the chair by her slightly disordered vanity. It was thrilling and terrifying and beautiful all at once, and to see her so undone stunned him, with her face free of makeup, and her hair unpinned and falling loose. It melted his heart and knotted his feelings so he couldn’t think straight.

“Are you okay?” he asked, when he could find his voice. Instinct told him she had been watching him for several minutes. He sat up against the pillows, aware that this would be an important conversation. He had no clothes on though, and the difference in their state of dress sharpened the moment. 

She nodded but the crease between her brows deepened instead of going away and she struggled before shaking her head no. 

His heart beat fast. He stopped himself from reaching for her. “What is it? Have I—did I upset you?”

“No,” she said, but her smile was uncertain. “It’s just…” She tilted her head, and her scrutiny felt piercing. “I know it’s you. But you’re not the same. Are you? You’ve changed.”

It hadn’t taken long to get there. Of course it hadn’t. The difference between the man she had known who went into the ice and the man he was now must be glaring, for her in particular. The years left their mark. “Yes,” he said. “But, deep down I’m the same man.”

“Are you?” she asked, honestly curious. 

He thought of the Steve Rogers lying frozen in ice far away in the north, then he closed his eyes before shaking his head. “No, I guess I’m not. Not entirely.”

Her eyes traveled across his face. “You said it was a long story. Tell me. I want to know.” 

He took her hand in his because he needed the contact if he was going to go through the whole thing again. This time, he started at the end rather than at the beginning. He couldn’t tell her everything, but he told her what she needed to know. Like only a veteran of the SSR and a current Director of SHIELD could, she took the news that time travel was possible with little more than a wrinkle of her brow, very much like her counterpart from 1970. And similar to that Peggy Carter, he witnessed her guilt over failing to find him in the ice. 

“So, he’s in there, right now. Frozen, and…alone.” Her voice trembled. “And you’re--”

“From the future,” he finished. 

She frowned as she touched his face, examining him closely. He let her explore all she wanted, tracing his eyebrows and down his nose, lightly caressing his forehead. “How many years has it been for you?”

“Why? Do I look older?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood and smiling gently. 

“Yes and no,” she said. He knew what she meant. Though he didn’t have gray hair or many lines on his face, the years definitely made their mark. “And you said you can change your appearance? Change how you look?”

“It’s an illusion. But yes. Would you like to see?”

“All right,” she said, straightening and shifting her position on the bed as if she thought he needed space to transform. But all he did was close his eyes and concentrate. The tingle of magic sparked across his skin. He wanted to pick someone she knew and would be familiar with. She gasped, then cried out. “No, no. Absolutely not.”

“What,” he said, in Howard Stark’s voice. He’d chosen the young Howard, the one he’d known during the war, mostly all flash and attitude. “You don’t like the way I look?”

“I will not have Howard Stark in my bed,” she laughed, covering her eyes with her hands.

He laughed with her, and concentrated again to change the illusion. “How’s this instead?” he asked, this time speaking in her voice. He changed into Peggy Carter as she looked right in that moment, with her hair down and wearing the same silk robe.

She lowered her hands and wrinkled her brow again, then gave him a kind of amused reproving frown, folding her arms across her chest. “Is this some kind of bizarre fantasy of yours?” she asked.

He chuckled. “No. Though now that you mention it…” It was strange and wonderful to speak with her voice, in her accent. She rolled her eyes but smiled when she gave him a light smack on his arm. “I thought this would be less jarring than if I chose Colonel Phillips or Dum Dum.”

She gasped again, truly horrified. “Don’t you dare,” she said, attacking him as he released the illusion to look like himself. They laughed and he took her into his arms. He was pleased he made her laugh after the seriousness of the early part of their conversation. “Now, if you changed into Gabe Jones I might not object.” 

He pulled away from her. “What?” he asked, astonished. 

She smiled, raising her an eyebrow. “Falsworth is rather handsome as well.”

Her teasing reminded him of Natasha, and he melted all over, holding her close with his nose pressed to her neck, breathing in the scent of her cold cream and perfume mixed together. She hesitated, but then brought her arms around him to caress his hair. They lay close, nose-to-nose. 

“You’ve lived this whole life without me,” she said after they had been silent for several moments. “A life that I can never know, or be a part of.”

It was odd how their positions were reversed now. Previously, it had been Peggy Carter who had lived a whole life without him, a life he could only glimpse at in photographs and in reports. “It was the same for me, when I came out of the ice,” he said. “I missed almost seventy years.”

“And now? You’ll have changed the future by coming here.” Her eyes darkened, perhaps realizing that in some alternate timeline, her life will unfold differently.

“A little,” he said. She gave him a look. “Not so much that it changes the big picture.”

He had seen too much of the universe, had traveled too long through time to think he had any power to change what happened or what will happen in the greater scheme of things. Within this alternate timeline he could not fix all the wrongs of the 20th and 21st Centuries. He was just one man, and the universe would not bend to his whim any more than it had for Thanos. And he knew, all roads led to Thanos. But, in this timeline, he would free Bucky from the hell of Hydra, and he would save Steve Rogers from the prison of seventy years in the ice. 

“I came here to free them. To free Bucky and the other Steve. And to be with you,” he said, touching her soft hair, twirling a curl around his finger. He said nothing about needing Tony Stark, and taking the slow way through time to get to him. 

Peggy studied him closely, with searching, questioning eyes, and he tried to be as open for her as he could—this was a lot to take in, and ultimately it was up to her. This was her life he was altering. But as they lay together, with their legs tangled and the soft muted light casting shadows around them, bit by bit a hint of a smile spread across her lips. 

“So, what are your plans?” she asked, with a hint of cheek. 

“Well. First, I find my own place and get a job,” he said, remembering Bucky’s admonishment that he not be a bum, landing on Peggy’s doorstep with no job and no money, which was of course exactly what he had done. 

She looked slightly taken aback. “You don’t want to live here?” she asked.

“Of course I do,” he said. “But you know I can’t do that. What would your neighbors say?” She wrinkled her nose but acknowledged with a shrug that it would look bad if she were seen living with a man while unmarried. Peggy might be a well-respected woman in her field, but this was 1947, not 2023. He could choose to look like someone else, perhaps a female relative or a visiting friend, but he would already have to rely on Loki’s gift to move freely in this timeline—he’d prefer to be as much himself as he could. “Besides, I want to court you. I’d like to take you out. Go for walks. See a show. Go dancing. I want everything I missed.”

This time her smile stretched across her face, and her delight in his answer made her eyes crinkle in the corners. “You’ve gotten better at speaking to women,” she said, snuggling closer, their arms loosely held around each other. “What else?”

“After a suitable length of time, I guess I’ll propose. Hopefully you’ll say yes. And then, we live our lives together, until…”

They locked eyes, and whatever she might see in the shadows of his face, she wasn’t afraid. “Until,” she said, thoughtfully. She leaned in as if to kiss him but then put a finger over his lips. “I have a better plan.”

“Okay,” he said, only a little nervous. A mischievous light entered her eyes, reminding him of Loki. 

“We do all that,” she agreed. “The courting, the dancing, etc. But, you live here. I think we’ve waited long enough. Marry me tomorrow.”

He went from stunned to shocked, to wanting to laugh, to melting into her arms as she traced her fingers over his face. Of course she would propose to him and not the other way around. “You’re right,” he said, kissing her. “That is a better plan.” 

*

Deep in the newly built SHIELD bunker at Camp Lehigh, Steve stood beside Peggy behind the two-way mirror, watching Zola nervously fidget about the room, his round glasses turning opaque under the light. 

For the moment, he and Peggy were alone inside the observation room and Steve could look like himself. With Peggy’s help, he had a new identity. To the rest of the world he was Joseph Grant, a World War II veteran and a current SHIELD security consultant. It was a convenient umbrella from which he could pretty much do as he wanted, and it gave him security clearance within SHIELD. 

“Having second thoughts?” asked Peggy, not taking her attention off the little man. Zola removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It made him look like an over-sized baby. 

“No,” said Steve, holding back a sigh. “We need Zola free to contact the Soviets. Once Bucky’s in Zola’s hands, I’ll know where he is, and I can go get him. Till then, we wait.”

He and Bucky had planned this during their stay in Oregon, and Steve would follow his lead even if he’d rather tear through every military installation across the Soviet Union looking for him. It would be years before they moved the Winter Soldier semi-permanently to the Siberian facility, and his location before then was clouded in mystery. It didn’t help that following the Paris Peace Treaty, many borders shifted with the ramp up into the Cold War. Even the files Natasha released after Project Insight went down were vague in reference to the first few years after World War II. They told him where Bucky would be, but not when. He had to have patience. 

In the late summer of 1948, eight months after being granted asylum, Zola put in a request to visit his dying mother in Switzerland. That was Steve’s cue. 

He spread maps of Eastern Europe across the dining table in the Wheaton house. It was times like this he missed minute-by-minute satellite imagery. The trick was to pick a spot close to the hidden base Zola would use, but far enough that they couldn’t be followed. 

“Here,” he said, pointing to a section of the map deep in the Carpathian Mountains. “Can you get Dugan and the others to these coordinates?” he asked Peggy. 

“I expect so,” she said with a hint of dryness, jotting notes onto a pad of paper. The truth was, Dum Dum would move a continent if Peggy asked him to. “They’re preparing to leave now, but will need about twenty-four hours before they’re in position. What should I tell them?”

Dressed in tactical gear, Steve placed a few items into a backpack, including several small incendiary devices and a remote detonator. The bombs were designed by Howard Stark, so he knew they would work. “Tell him as much of the truth as you think best,” he said. “I don’t need the Howling Commandoes there to fight. I just need them there. They’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

She frowned. “What state will Barnes be in?” Steve didn’t answer because he didn’t honestly know. She took the pack from his hands and made him stand still, letting the charged moment build between them. “I’m going with Dugan and the others,” she said, getting his attention.

“What?” he asked, surprised. That hadn’t been part of the plan. Outside, the sky began to darken into dusky evening, leaving the living room full of dull shadows. 

“I’m part of the team,” she said, simply. “I was there when the Howling Commandos were formed. I was there through the War. And I was there at the end. I should be there now. He’s one of our own. He’ll need all of us.”

When she put it that way. He took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. “Thank you,” he said.

Her lips twitched. “You can thank me later.”

He flushed, though they had been married now for months. It was Peggy who pulled away, handing him the pack. Outside in the back yard, the sky turned a rusty blue and in neighboring houses families were sitting down for dinner. Night flowers bloomed, scenting the air. He strode to the center of the lawn. Mjolnir flew from its place by the back door, snapping into his hand. 

Peggy made quite the picture, framed by the porch. He kept his eyes on her as he spun the hammer, looking up in the last moment as he flew into the evening sky.

It was another chilled flight across the Atlantic, but he warmed up quickly once he landed in the dead of night in the middle of a thick wood, hiking to the hidden base’s location. It was kind of fun, not having GPS anymore and roughing it old school. In August, Poland was quite warm, and the woods smelled like pine needles, the sky spread open with a rich array of stars. 

Steve took cover in the hills above the base, lying on his stomach and studying it through a pair of binoculars. He had been here before in 1944 with the Howling Commandoes. Back then, it had been one of Schmidt’s factories. Now, it was heavily fortified and partially rebuilt after the war. Through the binoculars, he saw minimal activity, but Zola hadn’t arrived yet.

The forest nighttime activity chorused around him. He listened to the owls, to the wind through the tree branches and the cricketing bugs. Beneath all that, he heard the thrumming power of the base. As the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, the growl of several cars and trucks invaded the peace of the forest. A caravan drove over the winding hills. Watching through his binoculars, he recognized Zola sitting in the back of the lead car. Bucky was inside one of those trucks. Steve forced himself to lay still.

“You have to let it go through,” said Bucky, his voice reaching back through time and across realties to echo through the valley that lay between him and the base. Its echo plunged him into memory. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. Bucky sat under a pile of blankets. They had space heaters set up around them. Steve should get up to put their dirty dinner dishes in the kitchen sink, but he didn’t want to. Max wuffled, shifting around on Bucky’s lap until he found a more comfortable position, nudging Bucky until he resumed giving him head scratches. Bucky was asking for Steve to let Zola perform the procedure that would give him his mechanical arm. “I thought you hated that thing.”

“I hate what they made me do with it,” said Bucky. He removed his metal arm from under the blanket. It may be an improved replacement from the previous one, but that didn’t seem to make a difference in that moment. He open and shut his fist. “If you’re going to go back in time and pull me out before any of that ever happens, then maybe…” he trailed off, eyes unfocused as he stared unseeing at the empty fireplace. “Maybe I can do some good with it instead. Tip the cosmic scales a bit. It won’t erase what _I_ did, but--” he shrugged, taking his metal hand and gently caressing Max with it. “If we give that arm a different history, that’d be okay. Might help me sleep a little, and give me something to work toward with this new arm.”

How could Steve argue with that? Even though the thought of Zola getting his hands on Bucky for one more second made Steve sick. As he lay on the damp earth, Mjolnir vibrated beside him, either sensing Steve’s internal tug-of-war or more likely sensing the potential divergence in the timeline. Steve placed his hand on the cool metal, and the vibration stopped. 

During the daylight hours, the activity around the base increased. The constant thrum of energy was like a sleeping monster, hidden deep underground. He didn’t have to guess how long to wait—the file on the Winter Soldier had detailed notes on the procedure. It would take ten hours. Long enough for the Howling Commandoes to reach the rendezvous point. When the sun set, he checked his watch and knew it was time to face the monster and get his best friend out of there. 

Steve stood on the hill and raised Mjolnir. The hammer glowed bright while the skies darkened with gray storm clouds. With a gesture like he pulled down the heavens, columns of lightning struck the base. The thrumming ceased. All lights went out.

A generator kicked into life and an alarm blared. The alarm was like a cry for help, calling to him. Steve swung Mjolnir, alight with lightning, and changed his appearance as he flew from the mountaintop.

Four guards were stationed at the entrance, trying to make contact inside. They looked wide-eyed as Steve landed in front of them. 

“Herr Zola,” said one guard, stunned as he snapped to attention. “We thought you were inside. There has been some kind of explosion.”

“Step aside,” said Steve. 

The men didn’t act fast enough, confused by the hammer in Steve’s hand. He aimed a bolt of lightning right at the door. They yelled, scattering in every direction. Steve hit the door with the hammer once. It cracked and he kicked it open. 

He turned to one of the guards before entering. “Evacuate all personnel.”

“But sir…” he protested, bewildered. 

“Do it!” he insisted.

Inside, it was chaos, with men and women rushing everywhere. The base was gray cement, with identical catacomb-like hallways. It reminded him of the SHIELD bunker at Camp Lehigh, but plunged into darkness. A red emergency light added an element of pure panic, like a scene from a horror film. Several of the staff stopped and stared at him. It must have been an odd thing to see—the tiny Zola, bursting through the heavy doors, wrapped in lightning. 

To find Bucky, he headed deeper into the base. No one stopped him. No one dared approach. The room, two sub-levels down, had tall ceilings. When he kicked the door open, he saw several things at once. The red emergency light was like blood on the walls. In the center of the room, several men in surgical gowns struggled to control Bucky, his legs flailing. Another one of the doctors lay crumpled on the ground and appeared to be dead. Zola—the real Zola—was inching backward in terror from the struggle. He turned to ran but abruptly stopped when he saw Steve in the doorway. 

“But…” said Zola, his round glasses turning red from the emergency light. “But who are you?”

“Going somewhere?” asked Steve, grabbing Zola by his necktie. 

Zola cried out, “Help! Help! Attack!” Steve raised him bodily into the air, throwing Zola across the room and onto the doctors struggling with Bucky, knocking them away. Bucky groaned and rolled from the operation table, falling onto the floor, bare-chested except for his bandaged shoulder joint, his metal arm reflecting the blood-red from the emergency light. 

Unsteadily, Bucky stood up, and recognized Zola. Steve saw shades of the Winter Soldier as Bucky picked Zola up by his neck, dangling him in the air. Zola squeaked with terror, wiggling like a rabbit caught in a wolf’s jaw. 

Several guards rushed in. They saw two Zolas and didn’t know what to do, paralyzed with indecision. No one spoke, the alarm blaring overhead. “Get out,” said Steve even as Zola gasped weakly, “Attack, attack.” Bucky continued to squeeze Zola’s throat. 

It was too much to hope the guards would simply believe Steve was the real Zola and do as he ordered. They pointed their weapons at him. Steve grabbed a gun and punched two of the men hard. They fell in a heap before he grabbed a third, sending him flying. He swung Mjolnir, hitting the last two in the chest. They crashed against the wall, falling to the ground. 

Steve didn’t know how long before another group of guards came. Bucky continued to dangle Zola from his neck. Zola fought feebly. The light painted everything red. 

“Bucky,” said Steve, releasing the illusion to look like himself. Bucky blinked at the sound of Steve’s voice. With relief, Steve saw Bucky didn’t yet have the soulless eyes of the Winter Soldier. Instead, these were the eyes of a terrified young man. “It’s me. It’s Steve. I’ve come to get you out of here.”

Bucky shuddered all over. Was that hope? Was it disbelief? “Steve?”

“Yeah,” said Steve, his heart breaking. 

Zola croaked a complaint, his eyes bugging out more than usual when he recognized Steve. “No, no. Not you. It…can’t be you…” he squeaked, struggling against Bucky’s grip on his throat.

With his eyes on Steve, Bucky slowly woke up, realizing who he was, how he had gotten there. He saw the room they were in with its medical equipment, the emergency red light, the scattered bodies of guards and doctors. His face quivered, with anger or fear, as he turned to Zola dangling from his metal grip. Zola gasped, recognizing the moment of his own death. There was a pause, then Bucky’s hand tightened. A sickening little _snap_ , and Zola dangled lifeless. 

“Oh God,” said Bucky, letting Zola go. The body crumpled to the ground, falling in a small puddle of limbs. Bucky looked with horror at his metal hand, wide-eyed as he turned to Steve. “What did they do to me?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Steve, taking hold before Bucky’s legs gave out. He stepped over Zola’s body. The man was dead. It should have been a significant moment, to see the mastermind of so much pain and suffering as no more than a lifeless lump on the floor, but Steve didn’t have the time to give the moment any real weight. Zola was gone. “Take a breath.”

Bucky was staring at him. “I didn’t think you’d come for me.” The relief in his voice was painful as Bucky climbed his way up from the nightmare he had lived in since falling from the train. 

Don’t think about Bucky, thought Steve, the one in his present who waited for him inside of the countdown: five, four, three, two... That Bucky was safe now. He was with Sam and they were both okay. He’s okay, Steve said to himself, over and over again, taking more of this Bucky in his arms, holding him up. He’s okay, he’s okay. Don’t think about his Bucky now. Don’t think about him here, in this room, on that table and in that cryo chamber, all by himself. Bucky was okay. He was alive, and he was safe.

“We have to get out of here,” he managed to say through a tight throat, taking off his outer shirt and draping it over Bucky. Even with the alarm blaring, he could hear the stampeding feet of more soldiers heading their way. He knelt down on the ground, gently coaxing Bucky to kneel beside him so they both blocked Zola’s body from view. “Whatever happens in the next few minutes, just go with it, okay?”

“What…what are you going to do?” asked Bucky, not well coordinated as he tried to make his limbs, both flesh and metal, do his bidding. Even with the red lighting he looked pale, with dark smudges under his eyes. Steve didn’t think they’d kept him cryogenically frozen since his capture. Bucky was rawboned and gaunt. Did they feed him? Did they let him bathe? His hair hung limp over his eyes. 

Steve didn’t answer. He placed one hand on Bucky’s arm then faced the door. The illusion masked both of them, magic tingling over their skin. Bucky made a small noise of distress. The illusion made Bucky look like one of the doctors, but Bucky stared with haunted eyes at Steve who now looked like the man Bucky had just killed. Before Steve could say anything to reassure him, several more guards ran in. The lead guard lowered his weapon when he recognized Steve as Zola. 

“Herr Zola,” he said, taking in the scene of destruction, bodies lying everywhere. “What happened?”

Steve clutched at his throat, gasping. “You fools,” he croaked. “The prisoner has escaped. Go after him!” Steve waved at the soldier, ordering him to leave. “Go! Quickly.”

The soldier hesitated, but he instructed his men to begin a search of the facility and to block all exits. As soon as they were gone, Steve went to the door, pushing it partially closed so he could still see and hear the activity in the hallway. When he turned back, he found Bucky staring at him through a stranger’s eyes. Steve released the illusion so they could look like themselves to have this talk. 

“It’s a trick,” he said. “An illusion. See? We’re back to the way we were.”

Bucky looked disturbed and uncertain. “They’ve changed you again,” he said, echoing back to when Steve rescued him from Zola the first time. “What’s happened to you?”

Steve straightened and approached Bucky slowly, asking him with a look if it was all right to touch him. He read Bucky’s body language—the tense fear giving way to the need for comfort. Slowly so as not to frighten him, Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s flesh and bone shoulder. 

“A lot of things,” he said, answering Bucky’s question. “A lot of things happened. But I’m still me.” He slid his hand up to cup Bucky’s face, to squeeze his neck. Bucky’s frown deepened, taking in a short breath and releasing it with acceptance, falling into Steve’s embrace. “I’m still me,” Steve repeated, taking Bucky into his arms, and he wondered if he said it to reassure himself or Bucky or both. “And you’re still you. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Before leaving, Steve planted two of the incendiary devices on opposite ends of the room. Then, in disguise, they slipped into the hallway. Steve held onto Bucky’s hand. It might look odd that Zola and one of the doctors walked hand-in-hand through the corridors, while Zola carried some unrecognized large metal hammer, but it hardly mattered. It seemed his order to evacuate the base had been followed, and there were far fewer people than before. He paused a few times to set more of the bombs. The stragglers rushing to evacuate didn’t stop to notice. No one would question Zola anyway. 

They reached the top level. A barricade had been set up at the exit, with several guards positioned, pointing weapons down the hallway, waiting to capture the escaped prisoner. 

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” yelled Steve. Playing his part, he ran with Zola’s awkward gait toward the exit, pulling Bucky with him. “Let us out.”

They got halfway to the exit when someone yelled, “Halt!” Instinct told him to stop, Bucky crashing into him. From the intersecting hallway, a soldier arrived carrying Zola’s body. “That’s not Herr Zola,” he said, panting. 

The guards were slow to react, blinking with confusion. Weapons were raised, aiming at Steve and Bucky. More soldiers arrived from behind, and they were surrounded. 

Bucky was breathing hard, looking more and more like a trapped animal. “We’re going to have to fight our way out,” he said. 

Steve straightened as much as he could while still disguised as Zola. It was more important that they didn’t see his real face than they believed he was Zola or not. “We could,” he said, giving Bucky an encouraging smile, handing him the detonator for the bombs. “But I’ve got a better idea. We’re going to fly out.”

“What?” asked Bucky, bewildered but he took the detonator. 

Steve let Mjolnir drop so it hung from his hand by its leather strap. Making sure Bucky stood behind him, Steve swung the hammer fast, low enough for it to hit the floor of the base like a saw. It seared off chunks of cement, spinning so fast it created a windstorm of dust and pieces of rock flying everywhere. The guards scattered under the assault. Steve grabbed Bucky around his torso. Mjolnir pulled them off their feet and they punched through the barricade, flying into the night. 

Fresh, cool air rushed around them. Before they reached a height of fifty feet, he yelled, “Bucky, now!”

Bucky, cursing up a blue streak and clinging desperately to Steve, pushed the button on the detonator. A full second later, the bombs went off one by one. As they rose further, Steve looked down. The evacuated crowd cried out in fear as the ground shook. The ceiling to the base caved in. And the monster was no more. 

Steve turned away from the sight, guiding Mjolnir, leaving the dust behind. 

It was a short flight into Romania. Bucky had his eyes scrunched shut, his face partially hidden into the hollow of Steve’s neck. They landed in the middle of a thick wood, less than a mile from the rendezvous point. Bucky stumbled on his own, finding a small boulder to sit on as Steve looked at his watch and compass, consulting his map to get their bearings. It was almost dawn. Somehow hours had been lost inside that base. 

In pure starlight and free of the harrowing blood-red emergency light, Steve could see how pale Bucky was, his skin waxy and sallow. He was examining his metal arm, touching it with shaking fingers, tentatively exploring the bandages at his shoulder and lifting part of it to see the raw not-quite-healed skin underneath. In fact, he was shaking all over. Steve checked his temperature. Bucky was burning up, but Steve wasn’t too worried—the serum in Bucky’s blood would heal him quickly, at least physically—but he’d feel better once he got Bucky to the others and they got him some proper care. 

“What am I now?” asked Bucky, with haunted eyes.

Steve took a canteen from his pack, unscrewing the lid and handing it over, instructing Bucky to drink slowly, just a mouthful at a time. “You’re the same as before, but now you have a metal arm,” he said.

Bucky snorted. “Wiseass.” He fell silent, staring at his metal hand before speaking again. “Steve, I want to ask how you can do those things? Change how we look, and how you can fly, and what is that thing?” he pointed at Mjolnir, resting against the boulder, gleaming dully in the starlight. “I want to ask where you came from? Because I’m starting to think…I’m starting to think that maybe…” his voice dried up and he took another swallow from the canteen. “That maybe I was supposed to be stuck in there, and none of this was supposed to happen.”

“Don’t think on ‘supposed to,’” said Steve, sitting beside him on the boulder. “Just think on what is.” 

Bucky made a noise that was either acceptance or denial or both. Steve took out his notebook, flipping the pages past the photo of Natasha and Sam, past her note, until he got to a fresh page. He wrote the same grid coordinates he’d given to Peggy in 1970, tore it out and handed it to Bucky. “Can you memorize that?”

“What is it?” Bucky took the paper, frowning. 

“Coordinates, in the Arctic. You’ll know why it’s important when you talk to the others, and they catch you up on what you’ve missed. But don’t show it to anyone. No one but Peggy. Got it?”

Bucky nodded, with bruises under his eyes. 

Steve rummaged around in his pack one more time and found a Snickers bar, tearing the wrapper and handing it to Bucky. “Eat it slowly,” he said. They sat together for several minutes, and Steve stayed close while Bucky took small bites from his candy bar, chasing it with water from the canteen. 

He wanted Bucky to rest before they hiked the last mile to the rendezvous point, but he also wanted to stretch these last few minutes for as long as possible, when it was just the two of them and there were no lies or illusions between them. As soon as Steve handed Bucky over to the Howling Commandoes, he wouldn’t be his Bucky anymore. He’d belong to that other Steve, the one that was locked in the ice. He’d belong to Dum Dum and Gabe and the others, and to Peggy. Maybe he would also belong to SHIELD and to the rest of the world, and eventually he might belong to the future Avengers. And that’s how it should be. It’s what Steve signed up for, after all, when he’d decided to go back in time. This was the deal. It was worth the loss, to see Bucky under the starlight, maybe a little worse for wear, but free. 

He capped the canteen and slung his pack onto his back. Time to go. Even just these few minutes free of captivity, with a little water and a few calories, Bucky was looking more and more like himself—more clear-eyed, less haunted. Steve held out his hand. “Come on. It’s not too far now.”

Bucky took his hand. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

It was like the old days, like during the war, with the two of them stealthily trekking through the woods of Europe. For Steve, that was decades ago, for Bucky just a few years had passed. 

The closer they got, the quieter they went, passing through the forest without a sound. They stopped when Steve spotted movement that didn’t belong to the woods, his visual acuity picking up the signs from several feet away. It was Morita, shifting slightly while on watch. The longer Steve stared, the more he saw—lumps on the ground for bedrolls, a campfire. 

“Your friends are there,” said Steve, nodding in the direction of the camp, speaking just above a whisper. At this distance, Morita couldn’t hear them if they spoke quietly. 

Bucky gazed in the same direction. There was a crease between his brows. He turned to Steve. “You’re not coming with me?”

Steve lowered his gaze. “I’ll never be far away. But you’ve got to go this last bit by yourself.” He paused, watching Bucky’s confusion. “They’ll say you had a fever. And that I was a hallucination brought on by dehydration and trauma. It might be easier to let them think that. Might be easier for you to think that, too.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” said Steve, keeping an eye on Morita. “It’ll be a mystery, to you and to everyone, how you got out. Who set you free? Who helped you? You can tell them the truth. You can tell them it was me, but they won’t believe you. And when you learn what happened at the end of the war, you might not believe it either. But Peggy will believe.” Steve felt for Bucky’s breast pocket, where he’d put the piece of paper with the coordinates in the ice, crossing Bucky’s hands—both metal and flesh—over it, like a pledge. “Remember,” he said, “I’m never far away. You find him. Don’t give up, no matter how long it takes. You bring him home. Now go.”

Bucky shook his head, refusing to go, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “I don’t want to think I dreamed you,” said Bucky. 

“It’s okay. I’ll walk with you,” Steve whispered, guiding Bucky in front of him. With each step he took, he dropped further back, pulling the illusion of the forest around him to mask his presence. 

Morita reacted first by raising his weapon, but then he narrowed his eyes. “Holy shit,” he said, as Bucky stumbled into camp. Morita kicked a lump on the ground. Dugan’s head emerged, scowling. “Wake up,” said Morita. “You gotta see this.”

Steve watched from the shadows. Falsworth woke next and then Gabe woke. Steve saw Peggy emerge from her own bedroll. There was commotion and excitement. The Commandoes surrounded Bucky, taking him in. Bucky kept looking behind him, searching the darkness. He was a little hysterical until Peggy took his hand and they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. Bucky bowed his head, letting her hold him. 

Steve stepped further and further away, melting into the woods. But, as he promised, he wouldn’t be far away. 

*

Officially, Peggy’s report stated she received intel from an unidentified source within the Soviet Union. The source hadn’t given her many details besides a set of coordinates in the Carpathian Mountains, with instructions to expect a package, hinting that it was a prisoner of war and if they wanted him they should come and get him. She retasked the 107th and the Howling Commandoes, deciding last minute to join them. No one expected the prisoner would be Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 

In his briefing, Bucky didn’t shed any more light on who set him free. His story of two Zolas and lightning and a Steve Rogers who could fly added to the mystery. He had been starved and tortured and experimented on. With dehydration and fever added to the mix, his confusion was only normal, and his belief that Steve Rogers rescued him was viewed with sympathy and pity. 

Peggy was the one that told Bucky about Steve Rogers’s fate, how he went down with Schmidt’s plane into the ice off the coast of Greenland, but she waited to do so until they got Bucky home, safely recovering in the infirmary at Camp Lehigh. 

When she told him, with both Howard Stark and Colonel Phillips at her side, Bucky listened but his expression was as if her words were meaningless sound. “Did you look for him?” asked Bucky.

“Of course we looked for him,” answered Howard, defensively launching into exhaustive detail of his search efforts, the years spent trolling the Arctic. 

“Son,” said Phillips, addressing Bucky in his gruff way. “It’s a goddamn miracle you’re alive. I’d expect Captain Rogers, may he rest in peace, would be happy to know it.”

Raising his right hand to stop them from continuing, Bucky shook his head. “Where’s my shirt?” he asked. Howard and Phillips looked awkwardly at each other. “The one I was wearing. Where is it?”

“It’s right here,” answered Peggy. She had folded it, and set it aside. She knew its significant, even if no one else did, and understood what it meant. 

Bucky took back the shirt, passing his hand over the breast pocket. “He gave me this shirt,” said Bucky. “The man who rescued me.”

Neither Howard nor Phillips said anything, their silence skeptical. Peggy sat down beside Bucky on the bed, purposely laying his hands over the breast pocket of the shirt. To Peggy, Bucky’s eyes were like windows with a view into the past—to the moment he fell from the train when the last thing he saw was Steve Rogers desperately reaching for him. 

“I’ll find him,” said Bucky, his voice rough, his hand curled around hers. He was speaking only to her. And maybe to the absent man who’d rescued him.

“I know you will,” she said, fighting tears. 

Peggy relayed all this to Steve. It was difficult for him to stand by and do nothing, much harder than he had anticipated. To hear second hand how Bucky was recovering, and what SHIELD’s next actions were, and what the reports said, but unable to go to Bucky, to be part of the team. Peggy told him everything that happened, but it wasn’t the same as being in the room. 

As a compromise with himself, he visited Peggy at her office every day. It was as close as he allowed himself to be. 

“How is he?” asked Steve. His excuse for being there was to bring Peggy dinner since she had to work late dealing with the fallout of Zola’s defection and the ripple effect his death caused through the intelligence community. 

“Better,” she answered, but then she got distracted as he set out a plate and silverware, serving her a slice of lasagna. She picked up a fork. “Did you make this yourself?” 

“Every last bit of it. From scratch,” he said, snapping a cloth napkin open and laying it on her lap. 

Her eyes lit up after she took her first bite, digging into the rest. It was Bucky’s recipe. He’d taught it to Steve while they lived in Oregon, painstakingly going over it with him step by step, making it as foolproof for him as possible. Peggy barely paused for breath as she ate. Steve felt pride, both for himself and for Bucky, watching her enjoy the meal. It was good she liked it since it was one of about four recipes he knew how to cook. 

“He’d set off on foot for Greenland right now if I let him,” she said between bites, answering his question more fully. “You could go see him, you know,” she said, kindly. “Perhaps Joseph Grant has a reason to visit the infirmary.”

It was tempting, but he shook his head. “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t get past Gabe or Dum Dum.” 

Since they found him in the middle of the forest, the other Howling Commandoes had taken it upon themselves to guard Bucky morning, noon, and night. Guarding him from Hydra or the Soviets or just nosey parkers they didn’t like. Steve’s alter ego, Joseph Grant, wasn’t particularly popular with the Howling Commandoes. They thought of him as an interloper, an outsider who had stolen Cap’s girl. 

He reminded himself, this was how it needed to be. He had come to this time so he could save this Bucky Barnes from Hydra, and so the other Steve Rogers didn’t spend close to seventy years in the ice. But did that mean he’d stolen Cap’s girl? The question lay unspoken between him and Peggy. How do you steal from yourself? But she smiled warmly, laying her hand on his tie, pulling him in for a kiss. She tasted salty and sweet. 

The intercom buzzed, forcing them apart so she could answer it. It was Colonel Phillips’ office, asking her to stop by before she left for the day. “Will you be all right here?” she asked. “I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes. Then we can go home.”

“Of course,” he said, beginning to put the dinner things away, wondering why her words made him shiver.

He was alone for a few minutes before there was a knock on her office door and Bucky entered. Steve had half a second to mask his face. 

“Oh sorry,” stammered Bucky, confusion knitting his brows together. “For a second I thought you were….” He shook his head, briefly closing his eyes as if he were in pain. “Never mind. I’m seeing things. I was looking for Agent—I mean, Director Carter?” 

Steve had never been so aware of the thin layer of illusion before. Nor so aware of the desire to be free of it. “She stepped out. She’ll be back shortly, if you want to wait for her.”

Bucky was studying him. Joseph Grant was an inch shorter than Steve Rogers. He had darker hair, and a slighter built. If anyone bothered to make a study of the single surviving photograph of Joseph Rogers on his wedding day, they might see a resemblance to Joseph Grant. Steve held his breath as Bucky took a step further into the office. He’d put on a couple pounds since the rescue, and he wore a long-sleeved shirt with a glove on his left hand. The tension between them grew.

“You’re Peggy’s husband, aren’t you?” Bucky asked. There wasn’t any heat in the question, just a flat accusation. 

Steve blinked, so certain Bucky was going to recognize him that he was left fumbling to answer. It was unnerving, to have Bucky look at him with shades of hostility, so guarded and reserved. Bucky could be like this with strangers but had never been like that with Steve. Until now.

“Yes,” he said, finding his voice. “I guess that’s me. Joseph Grant.” Every single alarm bell in his head rang simultaneously. But they shook hands and nothing happened. “Would you like some lasagna?” he asked, the words popping out of his mouth without any thought. He hadn’t meant to say them. 

Bucky frowned, looking at the container of food on the desk. But the Brooklyn boy in him won out, trained never to refuse free food. He lit up with interest. “Is it home-cooked?”

“You bet. Sit down.” It was surreal, feeding Bucky some of his own lasagna. Steve’s mind went blank, happy to have something to do with his hands. He busied himself serving a large slice of lasagna, still warm, onto a dish for Bucky. Bucky didn’t hold back, shoving the food into his mouth. Steve noticed Bucky was careful with his left arm, and hardly used it. “Whoa. Slow down. If you make yourself sick, Peggy will never forgive me. What is it you’re looking for anyway?”

“Maps,” answered Bucky with a mouthful of food. Steve smiled indulgently at him. “She said she had maps in here.”

While Bucky ate, Steve went to the flat file drawers where Peggy kept her maps. He selected the maps of the Arctic, pinning two of them to a rolling board in the office. “I assume these are the ones you need,” he said. “I mean, it’s not a mystery what you’re looking for.”

Bucky stuffed another forkful into his mouth, meeting Steve’s eyes with a return of that masked distrust. Before, Steve could always guess what Bucky was thinking, but not when he was like this. Not when Bucky hid his true self from a stranger. Or someone he thought was a stranger. Bucky didn’t want to like Joseph Grant, didn’t want a reason to be nice to him. He wiped his mouth, then stood up to look at the maps more closely. His nostrils flared as he traced the grid lines, finding the exact location of the coordinates Steve had given him during the escape, then seemed to remember he wasn’t alone, snatching his hand back. 

“Why don’t I leave you to look at these,” said Steve, offering Bucky an out from the conversation. 

Bucky shook his head. “Thank you,” he said with his brows still knitted together but Steve recognized the softening for what it was. “I appreciate the help.”

There was another awkward beat of silence, then Steve pointed to the first of the maps pinned to the board. “This one has the sea currents, but you’ll need one with weather patterns. Even if you know exactly where he went down, that area is constantly changing. It affects the landscape.”

“Yeah. Stark said the same thing. He’s been looking for Steve this whole time and hasn’t found him.” Bucky bowed his head, not quite defeated but certainly daunted by the task. “With all his money and resources, he couldn’t find Steve. How am I supposed to do it?”

“You want my advice?” asked Steve.

“All right.”

“Talk to the fishermen. The whalers. They live up there. Day in, day out, every year, going back generations. They might open up to you more than to Stark. If anyone knows that area, they do. It’s a place to start, in any case.”

Bucky studied him, his expression hidden behind a tight façade. “You put a lot of thought into this,” he said. “Why?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer but then didn’t know what to say. He’d rather not lie, trying to think of an answer that didn’t land him further in hot water. Did Bucky question Joseph Grant’s motives? He reminded himself he wasn’t supposed to know Steve Rogers was still alive, frozen in the ice. He shrugged. “I fought in World War II. Like you. Like him. Like so many of us. If he can be found, then we should bring him home. And it’s important to Peggy.” He should have left it there, but he didn’t. “It’s important to you.”

There was a flash of uncertain, startled disbelief in Bucky’s expression. The honesty of his answer and the silence that followed made the hair on the back of Steve’s arms stand up, his chest pained with the strangeness of their conversation. 

Bucky inhaled as if to speak, then stopped. He wasn’t as gaunt as he had been, but there were still dark circles beneath his eyes. “Can I ask you a question?” asked Bucky.

Steve’s heart hammered in his chest. He nodded. “Shoot.”

Bucky took his time, frowning again. “Do you have any more of that lasagna?”

Relief made him laugh. Bucky was going to ask him something else, Steve was sure of it, but he’d changed his mind. “Yes. It’s all yours, if you want it.”

He served Bucky the last of the lasagna. While he ate, they marked the trajectory of the plane on one of the maps, then crossed off the areas where Howard had already searched. More than an hour went by before Peggy returned, her apology halted when she saw that Steve wasn’t alone and that Bucky was with him. 

“Oh,” she said, then recovered from her surprise, folding her arms across her chest. Steve felt very much like a schoolboy, caught red-handed passing notes to Bucky in class. She first turned her razor-sharp gaze on Bucky. “Sergeant, I believe your orders were to remain in the infirmary.”

Bucky winced. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“I’m surprised at Dugan and Jones. Why aren’t they with you?”

Bucky made another face. “Uh. Well, I sent Gabe home to get some shut-eye. He hadn’t slept much since Romania. And Dum Dum fell asleep on watch. He snores.”

Peggy was trying not to smile. “I see,” she said, primly. 

Steve cleared his throat, wondering why his voice got stuck somewhere in his belly. “Bu—I mean, Sergeant Barnes was looking for maps of the Arctic.”

“Call me Bucky,” said Bucky. There was a ringing silence. Steve glanced at Peggy, trying to act like he hadn’t just gotten punched in the solar plexus. Peggy raised one eyebrow, still trying to hide her amusement. Bucky caught the look that passed between them, and perhaps misunderstanding, colored at their intimacy. “Um. I’ll go back now.” 

Steve silently and desperately begged Peggy with his eyes. She revved into action. “Wait,” she said, calling Bucky back from the door. She took down the map they had marked, folding it. “Technically you’re not allowed to wander around the camp unescorted.”

“Oh come on, ma’am,” protested Bucky, the picture of indignation. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Don’t go ‘ma’am-ing me, soldier. I promise you, you won’t win. It’s past ten in the evening. We’re on our way out. If you would allow us to escort you back to the infirmary, I’d feel better.” Bucky looked mutinous, but she placed her hand on his left arm, and immediately the mood in the room changed. “Indulge me. Please.”

By touching his metal arm, she was trying to let Bucky know she didn’t care that he was changed. Steve could have fallen to his knees in gratitude to Peggy. “I think you’re better off just agreeing with her,” said Steve.

Bucky glowered, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah. God, no wonder Steve never stood a chance. All right,” he said, with a smile, taking the map from her. Peggy shot Steve a look behind Bucky’s back, raising an eyebrow. He beamed at her. 

Steve sprung forward to help Peggy into her coat, and then gathered the empty food dishes. Bucky folded the map one more time and tucked it into his shirt. Steve noticed that Bucky was wearing the shirt he’d given him, hidden under an outer layer. His hands faltered as he stacked the plates, putting them in a bag to carry home. The three of them walked through the camp together, speaking of Greenland.


	2. The 1950s

But it took several years of searching. It was too difficult to search during the winter months, when the chance of missing a clue or a sign hindered their efforts. Bucky struggled every moment he was away from the Arctic. If he wasn’t physically in Greenland, then he was mentally there. It was all he talked about.

During those off months, Peggy sent Bucky on missions with the other Commandoes, trying to get him into the world, keep him engaged, active and present. It got a little better for him every year. It was clear, when he had his head in the game, Bucky Barnes could be one of SHIELD’s top assets in the field. 

For Steve, it was difficult to watch Bucky from a distance, unable to go to him freely, to be the friend he so desperately wanted to be. Months would go by where Steve wouldn’t see him at all, would only hear about Bucky second-hand from others. Then, without warning, Steve might come home in the middle of the day and find Bucky in the living room of the Wheaton house, listening to a record on the record player. 

The last time this happened, they looked at each other awkwardly, then Steve offered Bucky food. “You hungry?” It was a safe bet that he was.

“What do you have?” asked Bucky.

It was late November. Steve knew Bucky had just returned from Greenland after another unsuccessful trip. He piled a plate high with warmed up leftovers, then watched as Bucky ate as much as he could without stopping for breath. But he eventually put his fork down.

“What do you need?” Steve asked, prepared to give Bucky absolutely anything. 

Bucky shook his head. He concentrated on his plate, staring down at a smear of mashed potatoes. “I’m fine. Just…sometimes I don’t feel I have anybody I can talk to.”

“You have friends.”

“Oh sure. I have a lot of friends. That’s not the problem.”

Steve smiled. “I guess not.” With his chest squeezing so tight it was difficult to get air, he said, “Well, you can tell me anything. Anything at all.”

Bucky’s chest rose and fell in a steady, easy rhythm, but he didn’t fool Steve. Who else but Steve knew what it was like to exist in an altered world while knowing your best friend was trapped and you couldn’t get him out? Bucky was aching inside. “I hate this,” said Bucky as tears spilled over, his voice barely above a rasp. “I hate this waiting.” Then he swore, and rubbed at his eyes, covering his face. 

With a shaking hand, Steve pulled Bucky toward him and let him rest his head against his shoulder. They were all in limbo—he and Peggy and Bucky—while this search for the other Steve continued, but it must be particularly hard on Bucky. “This won’t last forever,” he said. “You’ve got to trust you’ll find him.”

Bucky didn’t answer. A minute later, he pulled away with his face turned so he wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “Sorry about that.”

Steve said it was okay but Bucky got up from the table, said a hasty goodbye, and left the house. 

Six months later, almost ten years from the day Steve Rogers flew Schmidt’s plane into the ice, and about five years after Bucky began searching through the Arctic for his best friend, Steve woke in the predawn hours with a sudden, heart lurching, gasp. His pulse pounded in his ears, but he couldn’t remember his dream and he couldn’t fall back to sleep again as he stared into the darkness. 

The next morning, Peggy sat at the kitchen table dressed in her silk robe with her feet up on the chair beside her, her bare legs exposed. As usual, she was reading from several reports, jotting down notes on a pad of paper while she sipped from a cup of coffee.

It was a Sunday in late May, unusually warm for that time of year. Bucky and Gabe had returned to Greenland a month before and except for a quick message on their arrival, no one had heard from them. Steve cooked breakfast, though he stopped often to look at Peggy. The morning light filtered in through the windows. He’d taken up Bucky’s gardening habit, and in the first bloom of spring there were fresh cut flowers on the table and on the windowsill. He never stopped wondering if he was doing more harm than good by interfering with past events, but Peggy glanced up from the report she was reading and smiled at him. 

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem a little out of sorts this morning.”

Steve found a clean frying pan and set it on the burner. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” he said, with a glance at her. Broken, sleepless nights were a common enough occurrence for both of them that she merely frowned in sympathy. “What would you like for breakfast?” he asked. 

He liked to ask though she always wanted the same thing. Peggy was British. For breakfast, she wanted eggy toast, a cup of coffee or tea depending on her mood, and maybe a sausage, maybe a slice of tomato. 

She held on to her smile as she studied him, as if she had a secret, crooking her finger to call him over, setting aside the report she was reading. Like metal to a magnet, he went to her, lifting her legs from the opposite seat so he could rest them on his lap. He skimmed his hand up one bare leg, massaging her calf muscle. She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you what I want for breakfast,” she said, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Their lips met, and he thought breakfast would probably have to wait. He entertained thoughts of taking her back to bed, of trying to hold every moment he had with her for longer than he was able. But the phone rang—sharp, insistent, slicing through their peaceful morning. 

Peggy wrinkled her nose. “Hold that thought,” she said, pulling her legs free from his lap and heading for the phone located in the hallway. He watched her walk away.

From one ring to the next, he knew. Like a shiver down his back brought on by the breeze that came in through the open window, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything would change in the next thirty seconds. He felt it, the vibration. This was what woke him in the middle of the night. 

Mjolnir sat near the windowsill by the kitchen sink. Steve rose from the table, his teeth on edge, and placed his hand on the dull metal hammer. The vibration traveled up his arm. He didn’t hear Peggy answer the phone, or what she said, or any part of the one-sided conversation. Instead, he was thrust back into memory. He heard the high-pitched whine of the laser slicing first through ice and then through a metal hull. He heard voices when before there had only been deathly quiet. He felt a coldness that went as deep as his cells. Ice and dark and suffocating silence. And then that first gasp of air.

_This man is alive!_

The click of the phone receiver sliding into place snapped him back. Mjolnir stopped vibrating. There was an unnatural quiet in the room after Peggy’s phone call, with every sound amplified—a car driving past on the street, a bird singing outside, the clock on the mantel in the living room ticking seconds toward the future. Steve walked through the kitchen to the hallway. Peggy stared at the now silent phone, her hand on the receiver.

“That was…” she began, the color drained from her face as he took her hands and led her back into the kitchen. She started again. “They patched Sergeant Barnes in from the ship he’s on…I forget its name. Something like _Torsbat_?—” He suppressed a laugh, knowing that translated to _Thor’s Boat_ , because of course it did. He glanced at Mjolnir. Peggy pinched his hands. A little color returned to her cheeks. Her eyes were shining, and then he saw her smile. “They found him,” she said, as if all the air in the room had vanished. “He’s alive.”

“He’s alive,” repeated Steve. “He’s coming home.”

Peggy tried to dress while making phone calls. The other Steve remained unconscious and they needed to get him to SHIELD headquarters immediately. Howard was able to arrange a flight much quicker than she could through official channels. They would be arriving at headquarters within five hours. Steve helped Peggy into her coat, then handed her a lunch pail because who knew when she would have time to eat next. 

“Oh, bless you,” she said, taking the pail. After her initial shock, she hadn’t stopped moving but now stood immobilized staring at the simple metal lunch pail in her hands. “This is all a bit surreal,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I mean, here you are, but he’s…I knew it would feel odd.”

He fixed her coat collar. “It’s just going to get weirder,” he said, with a smile. 

She smiled back, though questioningly and with a crease between her brows before she wrapped her arms all the way around him so she could rest her cheek against his chest. It was moments like this one that he tried to etch permanently into his memory. 

He drove her to the nearby airfield. There were already several other SHIELD personnel there, including medical transport. Howard Stark arrived with Mr. Jarvis driving, followed closely by several more military vehicles escorting Colonel Phillips. Phillips had retired the year before, but he came out for this. Morita and Dum Dum showed up. Falsworth would be arriving from London later that evening. There were men in suits, men and women in uniform, nurses, an orderly, and the airfield staff. Of course, thought Steve, the whole thing turned into a circus. 

Peggy went to stand beside Howard and Phillips. Everyone stared up at the sky, hands raised to shield their eyes from the bright afternoon sun. Yellow flowers dotted across the surrounding green fields, and he heard the buzzing of insects. He was the first one to see the tiny speck in the middle of the bright blue sky, but he didn’t say anything. Then someone shouted. “There it is!”

Ten minutes later the plane landed, taxiing to a stop. The cargo doors opened. Bucky and Gabe Jones stood on either side of a large coffin-shaped box. Inside lay Steve Rogers packed in a solution to aid in keeping his core temperature the same as his extremities. They carefully rolled the gurney down the ramp onto solid ground. 

Peggy stepped away from the others. She walked calmly to stand in front of Bucky. “Ma’am,” he said to her with a nod, but his face betrayed him. She flew into his arms and they turned together to lay their hands on the box where Steve Rogers lay.

Steve didn’t know how he could have so many contrary emotions all at the same time, watching this bittersweet reunion he couldn’t be a part of. He had done it, though. He had achieved what he had longed for in the depths of his heart since he’d come out of the ice. Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes were together again. The Howling Commandos were together again. It brought a stinging bereavement to shade his profound relief. A part of him died, watching this, the part that he had been holding on to for so long. He could let go now, but it was painful as much as it was also beautiful. 

They rushed to get Steve Rogers into the medical transport. Peggy and Bucky would ride with him back to camp, and one by one everyone else followed until Steve was one of the few remaining on the airfield, watching everyone else leave, not certain what his place was in this time anymore.

*

Two weeks later, Steve wandered the halls of SHIELD headquarters. Like before, he had brought Peggy dinner so he could catch a few moments with her in her office, but she hadn’t been there. Peggy’s assistant told him he could find her on sub-level eight. 

Since Bucky Barnes had miraculously found the other Steve Rogers buried alive in the ice, Steve and Peggy hadn’t seen much of each other. Peggy came home to change clothes, to maybe catch a few hours of sleep, too exhausted for anything else. All Steve could do was feed her and put her to bed. 

“We can talk later,” he said to her. “When everything calms down.”

“Is that ever likely to happen?” she asked with a wry smile. 

She looked at him differently now though she tried not to show it, like she couldn’t help but compare the old Steve Rogers to the new Steve Rogers. In bed, he held her against his chest until she fell asleep, memorizing each slow breath they took together. 

In years to come, sub-level eight would become the archives where they kept the Tesseract and other dangerous items locked away, and in another timeline it would house Zola’s consciousness stored in a sea of databanks, but in 1955 it was mainly the research sub-level, though he suspected the Tesseract was somewhere down there, hidden away. When he got off the elevator, he found a short hallway and four MPs guarding a set of double doors. 

“Fellas,” he said amicably as he nodded to each, showing his identification with one hand, carrying the container with Peggy’s dinner in the other. 

On the other side he found another hallway leading to several more rooms. Many looked medical in nature. Someone in a nurse’s outfit padded from one room to another. He peeked in through a window and saw a large lab. It was all rather standard for SHIELD but it reminded him so strongly of the underground base in Poland where he’d found Bucky that he shivered. The truth was Hydra and SHIELD were always mirror images of each other. 

The lab had a few technicians busy working but he didn’t see either Howard or Peggy. A little further down the hall another MP stood guard outside a room with a sign over it that said QUARANTINE. There were large observation windows, similar to a nursery in a hospital, but they were curtained. 

It must not have been much of a quarantine because the door to the room was ajar. He froze when he heard his own voice. A second later Bucky answered. 

He shouldn’t be down here. Mentally, he kicked himself. He should have waited for Peggy in her office. What had he been thinking? Wandering around SHIELD had never brought him anything but trouble. 

Stupidly, he had assumed Steve Rogers was in the infirmary, above ground in the camp. But that must have been too public. SHIELD wasn’t ready for the world to know Steve Rogers was alive. Maybe the other Steve wasn’t ready to announce his return either. So, they kept him down here, among the other dangerous items. 

The MP guarding the quarantine room finally took notice of Steve’s odd behavior—standing stock still in the middle of the hallway, taking a step forward, changing his mind and turning around to leave, but then turning back again. 

Steve gave the MP a friendly wave and bee-lined for the nearest office, adjacent to the quarantine room. Once inside he almost jumped in surprise. Steve Rogers was staring at him from the other side of a glass window. It took him a heartbeat to realize it was a two-way mirror. He let out a slow breath. The other Steve couldn’t see him. 

At SHIELD headquarters, it was a safe bet that if there was a mirror in a room, someone was watching from the other side. 

This was the third time Steve faced a younger version of himself, and it hadn’t gotten any less weird. He set the pan with half a lasagna down on the ledge, then stared at himself.

The other Steve sighed, then began pacing. Behind him, Bucky sat on the bed, shuffling a pack of playing cards. They were both in pajamas and robes, slippers on their feet. There was a single bed, but a cot had been set up. Steve assumed Bucky had refused to leave, and it had just been easier to bring in a camp bed for him. Besides the bed and cot, the room had an uncomfortable-looking armchair, a desk, a table. Bucky and the other Steve were speaking, but Steve couldn’t hear what they were saying. 

Against his better judgment, he walked over to the control panel by the observation glass and toggled the switch that turned the audio on. Steve told himself he just wanted to make sure they were both all right. There was a hiss as the tubes warmed up, and then sound flooded the room. 

“—much longer?” asked the other Steve, pacing back and forth. 

“Howard didn’t say,” answered Bucky, shuffling the deck one more time before he began dealing. “They want to make sure you’re not going to grow a second head or something. I’m guessing just a couple of days till you’re sprung. Sit down. You’re making me dizzy. I dealt, so you go first.”

“I don’t want to play,” said the other Steve, bordering on petulant. 

“That’s ‘cause you can’t win without cheating,” said Bucky.

The other Steve frowned deeply at Bucky. “I have never cheated.”

Bucky burst out laughing. “Would you sit down?”

Steve decided on the spot that he couldn’t keep thinking of the other Steve as “the other Steve.” It would drive him crazy. Instead, in his head, he named him Rogers. Rogers resisted, but then gave in, and they both sat down on the bed. 

Steve stepped closer to the glass, not wanting to miss a single detail. They were playing Crazy Eights, by the look of it. It was an easy enough game to play with only two players. They began discarding and picking up cards as they played. 

“You know, you don’t have to stay in here,” said Bucky. Rogers didn’t answer, studying his cards. “They can’t hold you, if it isn’t what you want.”

“I know,” said Rogers, frowning. He picked a card and discarded it onto the pile. “Peggy said as much.”

At the mention of Peggy, Bucky narrowed his eyes, and even though Steve was on the other side of the glass, and it was Rogers whom Bucky looked at like that and not him, Steve felt his shoulders climb up around his ears. Bucky saw right through him. 

“You sticking around for her?” asked Bucky, his tone even. 

Rogers closed his eyes briefly, then shook his head. “I don’t know.” He played with his cards, reordering them again and again. “What’s her husband like?”

Bucky pinched his lips. With a gusty sigh, he let go of the tension in his body, then shrugged. “You want me to say he’s terrible. Really ugly. A total jerk. He’s not any of those things. He’s a good guy.”

“Dum Dum doesn’t like him much,” said Rogers. 

“Yeah well, the guys don’t like him because they think he stole your girl.” 

_Didn’t he though?_ The unspoken question lingered in the air. Steve gripped the frame of the two-way mirror, trying to ignore the pulse of guilt he felt, and not knowing what to do about it. Then Rogers shook his head. “Peggy’s not someone you steal. She goes where she wants to go.”

“Exactly what I said. But I wasn’t around then,” continued Bucky. “Apparently no one even knew she was dating. She showed up one day at work already married. He’s a consultant, for SHIELD. You know how the guys are. They’re protective. They couldn’t get mad at her, or say anything to her about it. But they don’t trust him, even now however many years later.”

“But you do?” asked the other Steve. “You trust him.”

Bucky took his time answering while behind the glass Steve held his breath. He tried to read what Bucky was thinking, knowing Rogers was doing the same thing. “Yeah, I do,” said Bucky, with a kind, slightly apologetic smile. Rogers looked wounded, but he wasn’t angry. “Hey,” said Bucky, knocking Rogers on the shoulder. “You want to fight for her, you should fight for her. Win her back. I’ll support you. I’ll do whatever you want to do.”

There seemed to be a moment when Rogers seriously considered it. “To the end of the line, huh?” he asked. 

“All the way,” answered Bucky. 

The heaviness of the conversation lifted somewhat, and the two friends smiled. “Thanks,” said Rogers. “Means a lot. But, I’d hate to bust up her life like that, on purpose. And I don’t think she’d thank me for it. It doesn’t seem fair. None of it is.”

“Yeah I know,” said Bucky, flexing his left hand open and close. 

Rogers noticed the movement with a small crease between his eyes. “Now I just got to figure out what to do with the rest of my life,” he said, choosing not to comment on Bucky’s arm. “I kind of thought, after the war, I’d ask Peggy to marry me. That’s obviously out. Didn’t plan much beyond that.”

“You think you’re going to hang up the shield?” asked Bucky. 

“What if I am?” said Rogers.

“Sure,” said Bucky, but he was trying not to laugh. 

“What?” demanded Rogers.

“That’ll last all of about ten minutes.”

Rogers made a face at Bucky. It seemed they’d totally forgotten the card game. “A lot’s changed,” said Rogers. “The world doesn’t need Captain America anymore. From what you tell me, now it’s all spies and secrets. That’s not how I operate.”

“That’s not true,” said Bucky. “Neither of those things are true. We need Captain America more than ever. And you don’t have to be a spy. Maybe some of those secrets should be exposed, dragged into the light.”

Behind the glass, Steve hung on to every single one of Bucky’s words. And he could tell it was the same for Rogers, as if Bucky were speaking to both of them. 

“Before I went up to Greenland this last time, Peggy sent me and the guys on a covert mission into Algiers,” said Bucky. “She got intel that the Soviets were using the black market there to smuggle contraband to Europe, trafficking some kind of experimental compound in its raw state. Nasty stuff. Could disintegrate you on contact. She first tried to go through official channels—SHIELD, CIA, Pentagon. None of them would act on the intel. Algiers is a hotbed, on the verge of revolution, and politically no one wanted to take the risk. They said it wasn’t a high priority. So she turned to us for a mission off the books. Turns out, the Soviets kept this experimental chemical compound in the basement of an orphanage. Maybe…fifty kids. Nuns. That sort of thing.” Bucky stopped talking, looking at the cards in his hand. 

“What happened?” asked Rogers.

“What do you think?” asked Bucky. “There was a fight. Someone else besides the Soviets wanted that compound—an unknown third party, we don’t know who they are but they were serious and they came after it. Mix in the local riff-raff, political insurgents, and, what do you get?” He made a gesture with his hands—boom. “A couple of the canisters breached. I hope I never have to see anything like that again. We got the kids out and managed to evacuate the area, but everyone left in that basement died. One of ours got wounded. A nun died.”

“You saved those kids. That’s something,” said Rogers. 

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. “I know. That’s what I tell myself. But I also know if we’d had you, probably no one would have died. You’re right that a lot has changed. It’s not as black and white as it was in the war. This…worldwide political chess game we’re living in, I leave that to Director Carter. That’s her job. But what’s the point of having this,” he said, lifting his left arm, bending it back and forth. “If I don’t try and save lives with it, no matter whose life it is. Try to do some good. Too many people die.”

Two different Buckys, and they both viewed the metal arm like a sin they had to make up for. Heimdall’s words once again came back to him—they were all the same, this Bucky and that Bucky, this Peggy and that Peggy, this Steve and that Steve, all across the multi-universe, and across realities. 

Some of Peggy’s intel on Algiers had come from Steve. In his timeline, the incident had been the earliest known appearance of the ghost who would later be known as The Winter Soldier. Survivors reported they saw a masked man with a metal arm take half the shipment of the experimental compound then detonate the rest. Hundreds died, including everyone in the orphanage. Peggy had defied orders—just like she had here—and sent in a team to Algiers, deciding to go with them. They had been too late to stop it, and had almost lost their lives in the process. It was only Peggy’s quick thinking that saved them. In her report, she’d noted seeing the man with the metal arm. Though it wasn’t stated, Steve could read between the lines—the loss of life had affected her deeply.

“If you do decide to stick around,” continued Bucky. “You can set your terms. You have all the control. They need you more than you need them. I know you trust Peggy. I trust her too, but that’s as far as my trust goes with SHIELD.” He paused, then shrugged. “Or you can walk away from it. We go back to Brooklyn. Or wherever you want to go.”

“You’d go with me? If I left?”

“You think I spent five years tramping around the tundra looking for your dumb ass just to let you go now? I’m not letting you out of my sight,” answered Bucky. “God knows what you would do without me.”

Rogers ducked his head, his cheeks turning a peach fuzz pink, but his smile faded. “I thought I lost you again,” said Steve. “When you fell.”

Bucky’s face was a play of emotions. “I thought I was lost,” he admitted. Even though he’d filled out, no longer gaunt and as rawboned as he had been, and the skin beneath his eyes was no longer a purplish blue, Bucky still sometimes had that haunted look. 

They fell silent, both lost in thought over each other’s words. Bucky picked up his cards, resuming the game. After a beat, Rogers picked up his cards as well, and they played a couple of hands until Rogers played his last card. “I win,” he said. 

Bucky frowned. “Hey, wait a second. You had a lot more cards a second ago.”

“No I didn’t,” said Rogers. The act was convincing for about two seconds, until Bucky lunged at Rogers. Laughing, Rogers curled in on himself, trying to protect his vulnerable sides from Bucky’s attack. “No, wait. I can prove it.”

“You punk,” said Bucky, trying to sit on Rogers. 

They wrestled around on the bed, roughhousing like they used to when they were kids. Steve watched from behind the glass, aching with a raw mix of envy and wonder, hope and jealousy. He profoundly missed his Bucky. He missed Oregon. 

But God, look at them. They were both shining underneath the unforgiving florescent lights. These two kids had their entire lives ahead of them. He didn’t care if they stuck with SHIELD, or branched out on their own. They had each other. 

Rogers managed to put Bucky into a loose headlock, but he stopped when he grasped Bucky’s unyielding metal arm. Probably had never touched it before. Probably it had been explained to Rogers in words, but how do you wrap your head around something like that? The roughhousing ended, and Bucky tried to pull away, turning to hide his face. 

“Hey, wait,” said Rogers. “It’s okay.” Bucky wouldn’t look at him and had gone pale beneath his day-old scruff, trying to move toward the top of the bed to get some distance. Rogers wouldn’t let him go. “Can I see it? I want to see it.” Deep frown. Bucky shook his head, still staring at the bedclothes. “Please.”

Where Bucky had been pale before, now his cheeks and neck were flushed red like he had a fever. For his part, Rogers kept his grip around Bucky’s left forearm, never letting go until Bucky dropped the tension in his shoulders. “All right,” he said. 

Bucky tugged off his robe, then unbuttoned his pajama top. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt. First, one shoulder revealed, and then the other. The metal arm shone brightly under the lights. Bucky’s body language held tension, waiting for judgment. 

They were silent. Rogers waited until Bucky looked up from underneath his eyelashes. Then, they both turned their attention to the arm. Rogers skimmed a hand up the metal to Bucky’s elbow, to his upper arm, resting on his shoulder. He lightly touched the gnarled, scar tissue around the shoulder joint. Bucky shuddered, and lowered his head. 

For the first time since entering the observation room, Steve felt he didn’t have the right to watch this. This was private and shockingly intimate for such a simple act. No matter his personal connection to these two men, he wasn’t meant to see this. He cast his eyes down so he wasn’t watching anymore and told himself to leave. But he couldn’t get his feet to move. 

“Does it hurt?” he heard Rogers ask Bucky. 

“Sometimes,” Bucky said. “Mostly just aches.”

“Can you feel this?” asked Rogers. 

Bucky took a long time answering. “Not…not really. Some signal gets through, but it’s like my arm is permanently asleep. Pins and needles.”

There was a stretch of silence, but the microphone picked up small sounds—the squeak of a bedspring, the rustle of the sheets, the soft whir of the servos within the robot arm clicking in place.

“I guess you can beat me at arm wrestling now,” said Rogers. 

Bucky snorted. “Maybe,” he said, then added, “I’ve haven’t…I’ve been pretty cautious with it,” he admitted. 

Rogers took a beat before answering. “Maybe that’s something we can work on together.”

“I’d like that,” said Bucky, his voice dropping low. 

Steve heard enough. He’d heard more than he should have, and he picked up the pan of lasagna that he’d almost forgotten about and turned to leave. He had wanted to make sure Rogers and Bucky were all right, and they were, or they would be given some time. Steve headed for the door but stopped when Rogers spoke up again.

“Do you ever think about what happened?” he asked. “About how, if that man, whoever he was, hadn’t gotten you out of that place, hadn’t saved you from Zola, I’d still be in the ice. And you’d be…”

The bottom dropped from Steve’s stomach. The specter of those 70 years reared its head again. He had his hand on the doorknob ready to get out of that room, but he looked back one last time. Bucky sat bare-chested, close enough to Rogers that their knees were touching, and Rogers had his hand around Buck’s metal wrist, like they needed to keep the connection strong for fear that Bucky would snap back to that other underground bunker thousands of miles away and Steve would find himself buried under feet of ice.

“Every day,” answered Bucky. “Every time I close my eyes.”

*

With Bucky’s words reverberating around his head, Steve slipped out of the observation room. He was halfway down the hall when the double doors at the end burst open and Howard Stark strode though, accompanied by Dum Dum, Gabe, Falsworth, and Morita. The whole gang was here, except for Peggy who was still nowhere to be seen. Steve swore silently to himself, knowing there was no way to avoid this meeting. 

Even in a quasi-civilian setting, Dum Dum managed to look like he was four days into a seven-day mission deep into Nazi territory. “What are you doing down here?” he asked Steve gruffly, and with barely disguised hostility. “This is a classified area.”

Howard gave Dum Dum a quelling dose of side-eye. “He has clearance,” he said, tipping Steve a hello with a finger to his hat. “Though as far as I know he doesn’t have business down here. Hello, Grant. What brings you to the eighth ring?”

For the most part, Howard Stark treated Joseph Grant with extreme politeness, to the point where Steve wondered if Howard might sprain something with the effort. It was out of character for Howard, but he didn’t trust Joseph Grant any more than Dum Dum did. He just showed his distrust differently. Among Steve Rogers’s old cronies, only Bucky was friendly to Joseph Grant. 

Before he could answer, Rogers and Bucky came out of the quarantine room, probably in response to their voices, wondering what was going on. Bucky was struggling back into his robe. There was a long awkward pause as Rogers realized who Joseph Grant was. He flushed a dark red, but he didn’t say anything. No one spoke. 

Steve had a completely unhelpful urge to break down laughing. Well, damn, he thought. Rogers took a breath like he was going to speak, but instead he frowned at Steve with confusion, tilting his head, a note of recognition in his eyes. 

Shit. Steve had to get himself out of there. The Steve Rogers he’d met at the gym in Brooklyn hadn’t recognized him, but maybe this younger Steve Rogers would. Joseph Grant was a living breathing three-dimensional person, not a faded black and white photograph from 1917. Still, Rogers was clearly picking up on something.

The tension in the hallway went up several notches. 

“Um,” said Steve, turning from the awkward energy between him and Rogers and addressing Howard instead. “I was looking for Peggy, actually. Her assistant said she was down here. Obviously, he was wrong. I was on my way back to her office.”

As excuses go, Steve thought at least it had the benefit of being more or less the truth, but it did nothing to ease the tension. It might have made it worse. Bucky winced a little. 

“Carter was asked to brief the White House. She’ll be a while,” answered Howard. 

“I see,” said Steve. “Well. I should probably head out of here then. Thanks.” He started down the hall toward the double doors but only took a couple steps before turning back. Ignoring the others, he spoke to Bucky. “Take this,” he said, handing Bucky the container of lasagna. “Peggy won’t have time to eat it, and there’s plenty left at home.”

He was going to say something else, but then thought better of it and turned to leave, forcing himself to walk at a regular pace. Before he reached the double doors, he heard Bucky ask, “Anybody got plates and utensils?”

He hid his reaction from the MPs, grateful when the elevator doors shut and he was alone, then managing to get out of Camp Lehigh without speaking to anyone else. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the Wheaton house and sighed in relief. It smelled of baked lasagna. He took a bottle of whiskey and sat at the dining table with his notebook, letting the house sink into darkness as he waited. 

Thoughts crowded around him, one after the other. He took out the two photographs of Natasha and Sam. He took out Natasha’s note to him and read it again. He had told himself he could handle living through decades under a layer of illusion while a second Steve Rogers existed in the world. This wasn’t his reality. He was just living in it for a while. He didn’t have the right to usurp it from his younger self, nor did he want to. But what had seemed doable before now felt like a hornet’s nest of problems. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He worried it affected Peggy, how it affected Bucky and the other Steve Rogers. They deserved the very best he could give them. And maybe that meant he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

There were other problems though, and he picked up one of the photographs, studying Natasha’s face, her hair, her smile. He couldn’t return to his timeline yet. He had made promises, and his mission waited to be completed. The Soul Stone was still out there, still in play. He thought of Loki, sitting in the space bar. And Heimdall and Frigga, waiting for him to return Mjolnir. He thought of Natasha’s body, lying peacefully on Asgard. Five, four, three, two…

A car drove up to the house. Peggy ran up the porch stairs, rushing inside, calling for him. She searched past the living room then stopped when she found him sitting in the dark by himself at the dining table. Another echo from the past, though this time it wasn’t a bombed-out bar. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he said to her, softly. His heart lifted to see her. Even after a gruelingly long day, she looked lovely, a sight for his sore eyes. Everything always made a little more sense when Peggy was there. 

She sighed with relief, then removed her hat and gloves, took off her coat and leaving it with her handbag on one of the chairs. 

“Are you all right?” she asked. Steve nodded, then shrugged. “Howard said he found you on sub-level eight. So, you’ve seen him.”

“I’ve seen him,” answered Steve, finishing his glass of whiskey. She eyed the bottle, but he’d only had a couple of drinks, and couldn’t get drunk anyway. The whiskey reminded him of Tony. It was his way of bringing Tony’s memory to the table, along with Natasha and Sam. Reminding him of how he got here, and why. And the consequences that came with it. He would need Tony to complete the last part of his mission, and had to live through decades to reach him.

She approached close enough that he could smell her perfume, but she paused when she saw the photographs, lifting one to look more closely at it, touching the glossy paper that were foreign to her—items from the future. He had only told Peggy minimally about Natasha. It was never easy to talk about her. 

“Are you sitting here in the dark working yourself up to doing something noble and self-sacrificing?” she asked. 

He huffed quietly. It was more like the opposite, more like struggling with his selfishness. She teased him, but there was a serious question underneath it. This frightened her, him sitting in the dark, brooding. He held out his hand for her to grasp. Soft skin. Polished nails. Just a dab of perfume on the inside wrist. With a gentle tug, she came willingly to sit on his lap. Her weight was a comfort and she melted against his chest. He continued to hold her hand in his. 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say?” he started, working up his nerve. “You’re from this time. He’s from this time. He’s the Steve Rogers you lost in 1945. He’s your Steve Rogers. Not me. Maybe…you belong with him. Maybe I’m not supposed to be here.”

Something close to irritation flitted across her face, and he wasn’t insensitive to it. Peggy wasn’t a parcel to be handed back and forth as the men in her life saw fit. She rolled her eyes. 

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “There I was, minding my own business with no Steve Rogers at all. And now I have one Steve Rogers too many. I have half a mind to do away with both of you.”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“The thing is, Steve. I don’t think…” she struggled to find words. “I don’t think he is.”

“You don’t think he is…what?”

“I don’t think he is _my_ Steve Rogers. He was never mine. We thought we lost him but he’s survived and that’s wonderful. But he doesn’t belong to me. He never did. If he belongs to anyone, he belongs to Sergeant Barnes. More importantly, he belongs to himself. He has to figure out who he is now, and he won’t be able to do that tied to the past. He can’t go back to 1945. Not even if he took that device you still wear around your arm. He can’t go back to what might have been if he had never gone down in that plane. Nor can I. I’m not that girl. And he’s not that boy.”

“He’s more that boy than you think.”

She shook her head, but smiled. “I guess you would know.”

Steve closed his eyes. “I don’t want to feel like I cheated him out of something.”

She sighed. He played with her wedding ring, and brought her fingers to his lips, kissed her palm, breathed her in.

“You feel for him, because you are him,” she said. “But you’re not the one that cheated him out of anything. He wasn’t cheated. He will simply live a different life, one that’s not spent trapped in a metal cage underneath several hundred feet of ice for seventy years. Which would have been his fate if you weren’t here.”

Knowing this was a situation of his own making was not a particular comfort. “You know he’s thinking of getting out. Of leaving.”

She pinched her lips, just slightly. “I know,” she said. “He won’t.”

“You sound so sure,” he said. “How do you know?”

She gave him a look, raising one eyebrow, and seemed about to say one thing then changed her mind and said something else. “Because I’ll ask him not to.”

Steve was glad of her honesty, and was relieved to see her being even a little possessive of the younger Steve Rogers despite her claiming he didn’t belong to her. She should be possessive of him. She should want to keep him, especially after only just getting him back. 

Bucky’s words from earlier in the evening came back to him. He didn’t think the other Steve was anywhere near ready to leave SHIELD. Certainly he wasn’t ready to give up on Peggy, and Peggy knew that. But, if the younger Steve Rogers was anything like how Steve had been—and, as far as he could tell, they were identical—being under SHIELD’s yoke would begin to chafe eventually. The younger Steve would break from the organization. It was inevitable. But he didn’t say that to Peggy. 

Steve lifted a curl of her hair and played with it, silky smooth and such a beautiful shade of brown. “One Steve Rogers too many, is that what you said?” he asked, giving her a smile. “Some might call that a benefit. A Steve Rogers at work and a Steve Rogers at home?”

She actually blushed. It filled him with pleasure to see her blush because it happened so rarely. “Honestly,” she said, with full British primness. “Men.” 

She got up from his lap to leave, but he held her in place. They were both trying not to laugh. He buried his nose into her hair, kissing her neck. She wasn’t having it, but also didn’t seem that insistent on leaving, or making him stop. He gently turned her to look at him again. He saw her humor and indulgence. “You’re his compass,” he said to her, watching the humor in her eyes change to…a painful, heart-wrenching love. “You always will be.”

She closed her eyes and a few tears fell. He carefully wiped them with his fingers, kissing her cheek. They were silent until she turned in his arms and placed her hands on either side of his face, weaving her fingers through his hair. The tears had stopped but she hastily wiped at her nose. God, he loved her. 

“Steve,” she said, urgently. “You listen to me. I made my choice when I married you. Do you understand? I knew what it meant. I knew we would find him and it would be difficult… and… and I would feel conflicted. But I married _you._ I didn’t wait for him. I married you because I wanted to. Because… unlike that young man back in camp, you do belong to me. Because I have to share him. I have to share him with the world,” her voice grew thin. “But I don’t have to share you. You came back.”

He was staring at her. She hadn’t stopped caressing his face, interrupting sometimes to wipe at her nose or at her eyes, and they pressed their foreheads together. Her breathing was audible. 

She wasn’t ready to see Rogers and him as the same person. And maybe ultimately she was right, because when had she ever been wrong? His chest tightened with love for her. 

“Take me to bed,” she said, and he scooped her up in his arms, and did as Peggy asked.


	3. The 1960s

Steve realized he experienced time differently. Like time could bend around him. It sped up and slowed down, almost a living breathing thing he could reach out and touch. But he had no control over it. He could spend a lifetime inside a single hour with Peggy on a Sunday morning, with every minute lasting an entire decade, or in contrast, a year could pass underneath his feet in a second. 

Sometimes he thought that was still normal, the way a child could experience the summer months as a time without end, while as an adult a busy weekend passed by in a blink of an eye. Except, when he sat on the back porch of the Wheaton house on a lazy summer evening, listening through the window to Peggy speaking on the phone, her voice mixing with the chorus of night bugs, he laid his hand on Mjolnir, and through it Steve could tap into the pulse of the universe. The seconds stretched on for millennia then compressed down to one intake of breath. He snatched his hand back while reality reformed itself around him, and he knew time made no sense, and it did what it wanted. 

For the most part, he enjoyed being Peggy’s mysterious husband, but he had decades to go through before it was time for the next step of his mission. That’s where he started, within these decades he’d missed the first time around, soaking in everything he couldn’t read in a history book. How speech changed with the slang teenagers used. How the air smelled. What it was like to turn on a color television for the first time. The shape the United States took going into the fifties, then heading into the sixties: the Civil Rights movement, the Vietnam War, all of these big cultural shifts.

When Disneyland opened, he saw an advertisement for it in a magazine and wondered if Bucky would drag Rogers to the theme park. Steve went back to school and got degrees in business and law. He enjoyed sitting on a bench near the student union, sketching some of the scenes he saw, the little dramas that filled a regular day. 

In a room full of SHIELD operatives, everyone crowded around a flickering television set. He watched astronaut Alan Shepard become the second person and first American to get launched into space. But he had to step away from the bunker to take a walk outside, remembering the _Benatar_ , remembering the trip to Thanos’s retirement planet. He had flown to Xandar with Quill and before that he had sat in the space bar with Loki, surrounded by aliens. After he got some air, he went back inside and placed his arm around Peggy, once again her husband. She looked curiously at him. 

After Rogers’s escape from the ice, he rarely saw Bucky. That was how it was meant to be. He wasn’t lonely, not with Peggy by his side. But the years with her slipped past too quickly.

Through it all, he maintained his consultant position with SHIELD, providing insight and intel where he could, trying to guide this branch reality through the shifting ground created by Zola’s death and the altered histories of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. Steve didn’t fool himself into thinking Zola’s death meant the end of Hydra. He’d made that mistake once before with the Red Skull, he wasn’t going to do it again. Hydra was wounded. Its largest head was cut off. But it had survived that before. It continued festering in the vulnerable soft spots of human nature. 

In Oregon, in another time and place, during a cold winter night, Bucky borrowed Steve’s notebook and wrote a list on one of the blank pages. “See what you can do about that,” he said, handing Steve back his notebook. “Have him do it. The other me.”

On that list was Algiers, President John F. Kennedy, a bombing in Malaysia, a U.S. Senator who had supposedly died in his sleep, the death of a prominent scientist’s young son, a Russian oligarch’s family that disappeared without a trace. The list went on, and at the end he wrote Howard and Maria Stark, who died in a car accident.

Bucky waited while Steve read down the list. There were a lot of terrible things on that list. Steve didn’t believe these things were Bucky’s fault, but he’d already tried convincing him of that. He got to the end and caught Bucky watching him with dry-eyed intensity.

“All right?” asked Bucky.

Steve nodded, closing the notebook. “All right.”

Bucky smiled with just a hint of sadness, then resumed giving Max head scratches.

But time had a way of playing tricks. _You mess with time, it tends to mess back._

In 1962, the world came close to World War III during the Cuban Missile Crisis. A year later, in 1963, while driving with the presidential motorcade through the Dallas streets, President Kennedy survived a botched assassination attempt thanks to the intervention of SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes. The attempt on his life shook the president to his core, giving Kennedy cause to reexamine his legacy. Those closest to the President reported how he said, over and over again, “I shouldn’t have lived through that. I can feel it. But I did live. What does that mean? What am I meant to do?”

He said the same thing to Bucky when he gave him a special commendation for saving his life. Bucky shook the President’s hand and said, “Sir, I know how you feel.”

During his second term as President, Kennedy continued his talks with the Soviet Union. Though many tried to remove Khrushchev from power, the Soviet Premier remained in office. Their talks led to a softening of hostilities and a change in policies, bringing hope of a common ground to be found between their two great nations. It meant the first steps to end the Cold War and the start of a new era. It created enemies on both sides. 

In the summer of 1966, SHIELD sent Captain America and Bucky Barnes on a mission to Argentina. During a coup, militant Peronist operatives kidnapped the youngest child of a prominent scientist. They wanted to use the boy as leverage to force his father into making experimental weapons. Captain America’s mission was to rescue the child, and bring him and the scientist’s entire family to the United States. 

When it was a mission from Bucky’s list, Steve made it a point to be there, if not on the mission itself then at SHIELD headquarters with Peggy, monitoring the situation. Bucky had placed a star next to the child’s name when he wrote it in Steve’s notebook. Steve hadn’t asked why, deciding he didn’t need to know. 

He and Peggy and six other SHIELD agents waited with mounting tension for an update. They were aboveground for a change, using one of the rooms in the barracks at Camp Lehigh instead of down on one of the sublevels in the bunker. But it was past ten in the evening and full dark outside. Steve missed his days of communication devices with unlimited range. They couldn’t listen in on the mission. They had to wait for news. 

The phone rang. Everyone stopped what they were doing, the noise in the room abruptly quieted. Peggy answered on the third ring. “Operations,” she said in a calm tone, then flushed with relief. Steve released the tension he’d been holding. “The child’s safe,” she said to everyone. “They’re moving the family now.” 

She stayed on the phone and Steve knew she was talking with Rogers. He watched her move to a quieter part of the room, putting a hand up to her ear to hear better. There was something wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was in the way she tilted her head as she listened to whatever Rogers reported. She went pale, and from across the room she sought him out. Their eyes locked. Alarm, shock, dismay.

Through the blinds he saw people running through the camp. His skin tingled, and the hair at the back of his neck rose. If Mjolnir had been in the room, Steve knew he’d find it vibrating. 

“What is it?” he asked. The brief celebration ended, and the room became silent with everyone turning to Peggy. “What did he find out?”

Before she could answer, Howard Stark burst into the room. He looked around until he found Peggy and spoke directly to her. “The White House is under attack. There are reports the President’s been shot. I’m working on getting communication now.” Then, he was gone again.

Shock rippled through the room. One or two agents abruptly sat down, their legs giving out underneath them. 

It wasn’t quite as bad as having Thanos’s ship travel through time to appear over the Avengers compound, raining down missiles, but it still felt like someone yanked the ground out from underneath his feet. He should have been expecting this. He should have known it would happen. You mess with time, it tends to mess back.

An alarm began as the camp went on lockdown.

“Peggy,” he said, breaking the silence. “What did Rogers report?”

Peggy swallowed before answering. “The men that were holding the child…He said they laughed when they were caught. They knew about the attack on the White House. It was happening right then, too late to do anything about it. To warn us. The two events are connected. It…they planned it. To make sure Steve was overseas….The timing.”

He swore under his breath, then took her elbow, gently. She was still holding the phone, her palm covering the receiver. “Tell him his mission is to get the kid to safety, and to escort the family to the U.S. He and Bucky have to concentrate on that. They can’t do anything about what’s going on here and you’ll update him as soon as you can. He knows this, but it would help if it came from you.”

She straightened, and pinched her lips, then turned to her assistant. “Help Mr. Stark. I need to know everything that’s happening in Washington.” She started rattling off names, people she needed to speak with at the FBI and Secret Service. If there was a live feed, she wanted it. Everyone sprung into action. Then, she turned aside and spoke quietly on the phone to Rogers.

Seeing that she had things under control, Steve grabbed one of the other agents. “I need floor plans for the White House, including the grounds and surrounding buildings.”

Howard returned and a few minutes later they had full communication with the FBI, CIA, and Secret Service, and a direct line to Vice President Johnson, already taken to a secure location. The attack had been two-fold: a helicopter had landed on the south lawn while inside double agents took down the Secret Service agents protecting the President.

“They appear to be Russian operatives,” said Rich Cole, Director of Secret Service. “We believe most if not all of the staff have been killed. Two of my men managed to report they got the president, his family, and one of his aides—I think the aide’s name is Goodwin—secured and barricaded in the residence on the third floor before communications were cut off. That’s all we know. We can’t get eyes in there, and all lines have been severed.” The director sounded tense but intent on doing his job, speaking calmly over the noise on the line. “Any chance of Rogers….?”

Peggy didn’t meet Steve’s eyes and shook her head before speaking so she could be heard. “He’s unavailable,” she said. “We believe the timing of this meant they waited for Captain Rogers to be out of the country and unable to respond.”

“How did we not know this was going to happen?” asked Howard. “Forgive me but Hydra couldn’t have done this without help. No intelligence on this? No chatter? Nothing? Not a peep. You don’t plan something like this just out of the blue.”

He received only silence in answer until the vice president said he’d spoken to Khrushchev. The Soviet Premier knew nothing about the operation and was shocked by it, horrified, and claimed he didn’t order it. There was no way to know whether to believe him or not.

“Okay, we’ll shelve that for now,” said Howard, and he and Peggy shared troubled looks. “What’s their plan here? What are they trying to do? Kidnap the president? Hold him for ransom? Is this a hostage situation? How are they planning to get out of there? They won’t make it two steps in either direction.”

This time it was Steve who spoke. He’d pinned the floor plan of the White House to a board and stood in front of it, studying the routes and angles and different ways in and out of the building. “There’s no exit plan,” he said. “It’s not a kidnapping. They want the president out of the picture. And they want to start a war.”

He faced a room full of pinched, nervous-looking men and women. Peggy was pacing back and forth. Howard watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. 

Steve ignored all that and returned to studying the floor plan of the White House. He’d marked on it where the Secret Service men were, both inside and outside the building, as well as the likely location of the president and his family and where the hostiles would be. He knew exactly what he had to do and tossed the marker he’d used onto one of the tables. “Excuse me,” he said, and left the room. 

There was a beat of silence in his wake, then Howard said, “Where’s he going?” But Steve was already out the door, striding from the barrack into the cool night. It took a second for Peggy to catch up to him. 

“St—” She started, then caught herself. “Wait. Please.” 

He slowed down but didn’t stop walking, leading her to relative privacy in a blind spot between barracks—the same place where he and Tony had disappeared from in an alternate 1970. “Don’t try to stop me,” he said. 

She looked lovely under the moonlight, even with the stress and worry she carried. “You don’t have to do—” As he turned toward her, he let go of Joseph Grant and stood before her as Captain America—the star on his chest, the helmet, the uniform in shades of red, white and blue. Peggy paled, then flushed pink in her cheeks. “You don’t have to do this,” she finished, but unconvincingly.

He could list every one of his decisions that made this his fault, but he didn’t. It was arrogant to think he could change history and arrogant to say that it was his fault even if it was. He couldn’t win either way. Time didn’t work like that and he knew it, probably better than anyone else. Suddenly he remembered James Rhodes. He hadn’t thought of Rhodey in years. In decades, to be honest. But right then, he remembered sitting in the common room at the Avengers compound, with everyone arguing over the Sokovian Accords, and it was James Rhodes who turned to him and said, “Sorry Steve, but that is…dangerously arrogant.” 

Rhodey might have been right. But that hadn’t changed his mind then and didn’t change his mind now.

“Yes, I do,” he said to her, but he said it gently. She looked worried, and for good reason. “I don’t know if this is the right call. But it’s the one I’m making.”

“All right,” she said, with that look on her face that said she knew she couldn’t change his mind so she might as well go along with whatever his crazy plan might be. He wondered if this was also how every conversation went between her and Rogers. “Well, you look splendid, though I’m not sure if going as Captain America is the best idea or the worst.”

He gave her a smile that made her roll her eyes, then he held his hand out in mid-air. Less than thirty seconds later, Mjolnir flew in from the south, making him take a step back with its force. The air crackled with electricity. “Can you handle Howard?”

Her nostrils flared, but she waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, I imagine so.”

“Good. Tell Cole, if this is Hydra, they’ll each have suicide pills. We need at least one Hydra agent alive. When the lights go out, that’s the signal to move in.”

She looked grave as she stepped closer, her eyes traveling across his face. “Understood,” she said, all too serious. “Good luck.”

He kissed her, then spun the hammer fast, shooting straight up into the air. 

It was a short flight to Washington D.C. He landed on the roof of the White House, underneath a canopy of stars. From both the north and south sides of the house, he could see the FBI and Secret Service staging areas. It was a cool night but still humid, with a trace of lingering summer. Starlight sparkled over the Potomac, where one day SHIELD’S Triskelion would be built. There were probably cameras on him, filming right at that moment. He raised Mjolnir and the night sky split apart. Lightning speared down through the top of the building. The lights went out. More lightning struck and the entire city went dark, section by section. 

He dove off the roof, twisting to let Mjolnir pull him around, crashing through the glass of a third story window. He ducked and rolled, coming up quickly but the room was empty. Secret Service had barricaded the president in an interior room, away from windows. He slowly opened the door, listening. Voices came from down the hall and around the corner. 

“—at was that? Did you hear something?” said one voice. 

“We’re running out of time. Quickly, open the door now,” said another. 

He heard the sound of pounding, and then a saw. They were moments away from breaking through the barricade. He counted three total, two men and a woman, but assumed there were more Hydra agents on the other floors.

The agents had half a second to realize they weren’t alone before he sent a bolt of lightning through the hallway, making it brighter than the sun. They yelled, crying out in pain and clutching their faces, shielding their eyes. He punched two men unconscious before they could even realize what happened, but he was too late to stop the woman from biting down hard. She foamed at the mouth and dropped dead. 

With a sigh, he turned his attention to the barricaded room, pressing his ear to listen. He heard indistinct noises. The hallway began to fill with smoke, but he couldn’t stop to find the source. He rammed the door with his shoulder. It didn’t give. He swung Mjolnir hard and the door shattered, busting through the furniture pieces they used to create the barricade. He stepped through, facing two men aiming handguns. Beyond the two men, he spotted the president on the floor held by his wife, their two children huddling next to them. The kids were pale with fright. Mrs. Kennedy looked haggard as she tried to treat her husband’s wound. The president bled from a gunshot high on the right side of his chest. 

“I’m on your side,” said Steve, masking Mjolnir in illusion, raising his hands up to show he wasn’t armed. 

Neither of the Secret Service men lowered their weapons nor changed positions from shielding the president or his family. Good men, thought Steve.

That’s when he saw the third man. The aide. Steve remembered that Cole had mentioned an aide was with the President when the attack happened—a man called Goodwin. Goodwin had been standing even further back, totally enveloped in darkness, but as he came forward Steve saw bright yellow hair and a handsome face. The man was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. The last time Steve had seen him was four years from then, in an alternate 1970. 

“Alexander Pierce,” he said. Everything made a lot more sense now. He’d looked for Pierce, to keep tabs on him, but all records of Pierce stopped after he’d graduated from college. Steve had hoped the altered timeline had put Pierce on a different path in life, but it seemed he’d hoped in vain. Pierce was holding a gun, but holding it like he didn’t know how to use it. “Drop the gun,” Steve said. It was an order.

Pierce did not drop the gun. “Oh my God,” said Pierce, flushed with relief and a big wide smile. “Are we glad to see you. Captain Rogers, isn’t it? Captain America.”

Steve shook his head. He didn’t move, sensing the two Secret Service men paying attention, as well as Mrs. Kennedy looking back and forth between them. “Let it go. You can drop the act. Hand me the gun. It’s over.”

Raising his free hand to his forehead, Pierce laughed nervously, but he didn’t drop the gun. The two Secret Service men switched from aiming their weapons at Steve to aiming at Pierce. Steve held a hand out, trying to relay to the Secret Service men not to aim to kill. They needed Pierce alive. 

Pierce caught the silent communication between Steve and the Secret Service men and then his entire demeanor changed. He went from a scared, nervous aide, to a cold, ruthless killer. “What gave me away?” he asked Steve, curious.

Mrs. Kennedy gave a small noise of distress. The president moaned, shaking his head. Steve was grateful to know the president was still alive. More smoke filled the room, drifting in from the hallway. Something was on fire. 

“Let’s just call it a lucky guess,” said Steve. “Is Goodwin a family name?”

“Hm,” said Pierce, almost conversationally. “Mother’s maiden name. I changed it when they asked me to get close to the president. I was told the name Pierce had been flagged.”

He raised his gun, now confidently held, and took aim at the president. At the same time, Steve charged forward to grab Pierce by his head and neck. Two gunshots rang loud, and Pierce cried out as his forearm was shot and he dropped the gun. Steve slammed him up against a wall, forcing his mouth open. Pierce gagged, trying to scream in pain while Steve shoved his fingers inside his mouth until he found the false tooth. 

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, forcing Pierce onto his stomach, face down on the floor. Pierce shuddered as his body went into shock from the gunshot wounds to his forearm. Steve stepped aside to let the Secret Service men tie him up, giving them the false tooth for evidence.

He went to kneel by the president. Mrs. Kennedy was staring at Pierce with a look of shocked horror. They were starting to get dangerous levels of smoke in the room. 

“Ma’am,” he said, pulling her attention toward him. “Can I take a look at him?”

She blinked, coming back to her self. He recalled images of her from the other timeline, in her pink suit with the pillbox hat, on the day of her husband’s assassination. He was sorry that she had to go through such violence in this timeline as well. “Yes,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“Hello, sir,” he said to the president, taking a look at the wound. It was slowly leaking blood. “I’m sorry about this.”

Kennedy grimaced, a little glassy-eyed. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. He managed a smile. Then, more quietly, he said. “I knew they’d try again.”

Through the smoke came a small army of men, including medical staff. Steve stepped aside to let them do their job. He saw more Secret Service arrive, taking Pierce and the two other unconscious Hydra agents into custody. With the smoke levels rising, probably caused by the lightning he’d cast in the hallway—oops, he thought—it was easy to fade into the background. He changed his appearance, using illusion to look like an EMT so he could stay by Mrs. Kennedy’s side, helping guide the children.

Outside, in the cool fresh air, he made sure Mrs. Kennedy drank water, making the kids drank too, putting blankets over their shoulders.

“Where is he?” she asked, blinking at Steve, looking around at the hundreds of men and women milling around in the south lawn. 

“They’ve taken your husband to the hospital. They’re just waiting for secure transport to take you there as well.”

“No,” she said, frowning as she shook her head. “I mean, Captain America? I’d like to thank him. Where did he go?”

She wasn’t the only one asking. He could hear others, either in person or over radio, asking if anyone had eyes on Captain Rogers. 

“Oh,” said Steve, smiling gently at her. She reminded him of Peggy. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere. If I see him I’ll let him know.”

She nodded but seemed resigned. He pulled the blanket around her shoulders more tightly, then stayed with her until it was time for her to go to the hospital to be with her husband. 

*

The fallout from the attack on the White House and the second assassination attempt on the president rippled across all government agencies, through the House and the Senate, as well as internationally, particularly with the USSR. 

The president recovered from the gunshot wound. A week after the incident, he appeared publicly at a press conference at the White House, standing in the noonday sun with his wife and kids, perhaps thinner than before, with hard lines etched into his face. “I am undeterred in my purpose as your president,” he said. “Undaunted in the task I have set for myself, though I am but flesh and blood and easily wounded, as you have seen. That those who promote hatred and seek war sought to end my life tell me that I am on the correct path.”

Howard reported that, appearances to the contrary, the president wasn’t doing as well as he wanted the public to believe. “They’ve got him on some kind of crazy cocktail of drugs. He’s being held together by spit and scotch tape.”

Kennedy hadn’t been exactly healthy beforehand, and the shooting had taken a further toll. But he was just as stubborn in private as he was in public, and determined to continue the peace talks with the Soviets even if it killed him. 

“Which it just might,” added Howard, with a great deal of annoyance and grudging respect, a sentiment shared by many in the President’s circle. 

Two weeks after the attack, Steve came home after a quick trip to the grocery store to find Rogers and Peggy having an argument in his living room. Bucky and Howard were also there, as were Gabe and Dum Dum and a handful of other SHIELD agents.

The yelling stopped as soon as he walked in. “Hello,” he said, speaking into the pregnant pause, holding onto his grocery bags, one on each arm. “Everything okay?”

One look at Roger’s face told him enough of what was going on for him to guess why they were arguing. The sudden appearance of a second Captain America—appearing just long enough to rescue the President and capture Pierce, then disappearing again—left a list of unanswered questions a mile long. It rattled everyone, though it gave Bucky’s story of how he escaped from the underground base in Poland a lot more credence. But that only added to the mystery. 

“Darling,” said Peggy, her cheeks flushed, apologetic as she crossed the room to greet him. Rogers turned his back on the room, stalking away to stare moodily at a corner. “I hope you don’t mind. There’s been a…complication.”

“I’ll say,” said Howard from his position by the mantel. “Goodwin…or Pierce I guess, whatever his name is, has finally started talking. No idea who the other Captain America is, but he’s given us enough intel to show this conspiracy goes a lot deeper than we thought. The bunker is compromised. Until further notice, the only people we can trust are in this room.”

Steve raised both eyebrows at Peggy who winced slightly. Having Rogers under the same roof as him was less than ideal, but he knew she wouldn’t have agreed to it if there had been another choice. 

“Don’t worry,” continued Howard. “SHIELD isn’t moving into your living room. This is just for today. I’ve got a house in Manhattan we can use in the meantime. Jarvis is getting it ready.”

“Of course,” said Steve, automatically. “Whatever you need. Let me put these things away and I can come back in and help.”

They watched him cross the crowded living room and into the kitchen. Once he was in relative privacy he sighed, setting the grocery bags down on the kitchen counter. Consequences, he thought, grimly. Always consequences. 

He heard a noise from behind as someone followed him, but he relaxed when he saw that it was Bucky. It was good to see him. Bucky had floppy 1960s hair, with just the hint of sideburns. He favored pea coats and those thick sweaters he’d worn ever since spending summers in Greenland. Several months had passed since the last time Steve had seen him, and even longer since they’d been able to exchange more than a few words. 

“Sorry about that in there,” said Bucky. “Steve’s a little tightly wound right now. Though I keep telling him I’m the one that should be upset. They told me I was crazy, but it turns out there really is another Captain America out there.”

Steve shook his head to show he understood and started unpacking one of the grocery bags. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I know,” said Bucky, stepping further into the kitchen. It was just past ten in the morning and sunlight filtered in through the curtains. The kitchen smelled of flowers, fresh cut from the garden—the last of the summer blooms. “It’s just that I want to explai—”

Bucky stopped mid-word. He turned to the left-side kitchen counter where Peggy had placed a vase full of lilies and chrysanthemums. Right there, next to the breadbox, sat Mjolnir, resting at a jaunty angle. 

Every molecule of air evaporated from the room. Bucky stared at the hammer. For Steve, time slowed down to the space between heartbeats. 

When Bucky used to drop in unannounced, Steve had kept the hammer hidden, but he’d gotten careless since then. He should continue to keep it hidden at all times, but he couldn’t bear to do that. The hammer felt like a friend and it connected him to his past and his future. To him, it wasn’t something to be put away in a drawer or closet. 

But he had been too distracted, coming home to find Rogers and Peggy arguing, finding the house full of SHIELD agents. He had forgotten, and it was too late to do anything about it now.

Bucky went ghost-white as color drained from his face, his eyes a pale thin blue. He pointed a finger at Steve, opening his mouth like he might yell but not knowing what to say. All he said was, “You?”

Steve rushed forward and clamped a hand over Bucky’s mouth. He called Mjolnir to him and then pushed Bucky toward the basement door. “Downstairs,” he said, glancing into the living room to make sure no one paid them any attention. 

They clambered down the rickety stairs. Steve turned on the lights. The basement was wood-paneled and quite cramped and small, with one area reserved for laundry and the rest filled with Peggy’s filing cabinets and odd bits of furniture. It smelled like laundry detergent. 

Steve set Mjolnir down on a shelf, resting his hand on the metal but it wasn’t vibrating and he relaxed a little. He started to say, “I can explain,” but stopped, realizing that no, he couldn’t explain. Bucky was staring at him with confusion and uncertainty. Steve sighed and closed his eyes to release the illusion. 

“Holy shit,” said Bucky, with a raspy whisper. 

“Yeah,” said Steve, in answer. He stood exactly as he was with no lies between them. Lifting the illusion was like lifting Mjolnir off his chest. Suddenly he could breathe. 

The look Bucky gave him wasn’t quite as hard a gut punch as the one he’d given Steve on the helicarrier that time Steve broke through decades of programming—You’re my mission. _Then finish it._

In their silence, Steve could hear Howard and Dum Dum speaking in the living room, their voices drifting down through the floorboards.

Bucky tried several times to speak and failed, then finally managed to find his voice. “You’re him?” he asked. “The one that got me out.”

It was almost an accusation. “I…” Steve started, his throat closed so tight it hurt. He nodded. “Yes.”

He held himself still as Bucky took him apart with his eyes. 

“And you’re…” Bucky licked his lips, frowning extra hard. “You’re also Steve. You’re Steve Rogers.”

Steve’s heart was pounding so hard his fingers went numb. “Yes,” he said. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

Bucky let go a shaky breath, and then abruptly hugged him. It made Steve stagger backward, his arms instinctually coming around to hold Bucky in place. “I hated thinking you weren’t real,” said Bucky, muffled. “That I made you up in my mind. They’d almost convinced me of it.”

Steve placed his hands on either side of Bucky’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It seemed necessary at the time.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, but he shook his head and pulled away like their hug might start to burn him. Steve let him go. “What are you? Where did you…” he trailed off, his eyes taking careful catalog of Steve’s every feature. 

“It’s a long story,” said Steve. “And I’ll tell you everything I can, but not now. Not with,” he looked up at the ceiling. “Not with everybody here. We should get back upstairs.”

But Bucky shook his head, studying Steve from different angles. “I remember now,” he said. “What I saw when you got me out of there, when we were on that mountain, but I didn’t see all of it then. You’re older. A lot older than—” he stopped. “How many years?”

“I…” started Steve, but words failed him. 

A hard look came over Bucky, his jaw tightening as he swallowed. “You’re from the future,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “But where you came from, I never got away from Zola, did I? And did you stay in the ice? For how long?”

The leaps Bucky’s mind took shouldn’t have surprised Steve, but Bucky’s question rubbed at the raw parts of his conscience. That question hadn’t been easy to answer when Peggy had asked it, and it wasn’t any easier to answer it now coming from Bucky. 

Steve shook his head. “Where I come from, life got complicated for us, for you and me,” said Steve. “We didn’t catch too many breaks. But we got through it. You got through it.”

He meant the words to be comforting, but Bucky went even paler than before. “You mean I didn’t die in there?”

All kinds of warning bells went off in Steve’s mind. He had hoped to avoid burdening this Bucky with the full weight of the crimes of the Winter Soldier, but he realized there was no way to do that. This Bucky and the other Bucky were connected, the same way he was connected to the other Steve—to the one currently in his living room and the one he’d sparred with in a Brooklyn gym and the one he’d fought with in an alternate 2012. The same way the Peggy he married was tied to the Peggy who died in 2016 and the Peggy he’d known briefly in 1970. His mind went to Tony—to the Tony Stark that wasn’t born yet, and the Tony Stark he’d given a drawing to, and the Tony Stark who’d snapped his fingers and saved the entire universe. He thought of Natasha, the one he’d given the Soul Stone to versus the one who lay peacefully on Asgard, waiting for him. His heart contracted painfully. 

Bucky, who had been watching him closely, could see some of his pain though he couldn’t fully understand where it came from. “Steve?”

Slowly so as not to scare him, Steve took Bucky by his shoulders. “No. You didn’t die in there.” He cupped Bucky’s face. “We should get back, but I want to show you something first.”

He went to the far wall of the small basement, running his fingers along the wood paneling until he found the release. The hidden door clicked, and he pushed the paneling to the side, revealing the other half of the basement. He kept most of his art stuff in here, hidden away, but the rest of it looked like empty space. Steve picked up the key fob from the hook on the wall, and stepped toward empty space. Once he unlocked the invisible door, the Tahoe shimmered into visibility. At full size, the SUV barely fit.

“Oh wow,” said Bucky. “Is it a car?” 

“It’s our car,” said Steve. “Me and Bucky spent a lot of time in this thing.”

Bucky placed his palm on the slick black exterior of the Tahoe. “How do you make it invisible? Is it like…?” he trailed off but pointed at his face to indicate he meant how Steve could change his appearance. 

“It has a stealth mode. Retro-reflective paneling. Technology,” he added when he got a blank stare from Bucky. “It’s not a trick, like what I do. Although I guess they’re both different kinds of illusion.”

Bucky was looking at him like he was speaking gibberish, which made Steve smile. He opened both car doors and they sat inside. He had pinned up the pictures of Sam and Natasha, as well as drawings he’d done of the other Avengers. Pixie’s felt mouse sat on the dash next to his notebook, opened to Bucky’s list. His old compass was there, too. Even though most of the high tech equipment in the car was useless in the 1960s, it still had sensors and could send and receive radio signals. The onboard computer worked offline. His cell phone was propped up against the center console, plugged in to recharge. It had taken some ingenuity on his part to jury rig a proper power source for the Tahoe once the car battery and the spare backup had died, but he’d managed. 

In this space he remained connected to his past, which was actually the future. It reminded him of where he came from and what he still had to do. 

“Why are you showing me this?” asked Bucky. He seemed afraid to touch anything, but then reached for the notebook. 

“Who else am I going to show this to?” asked Steve in return. 

Bucky gave him a look, passing his finger over the handwriting in the notebook, stopping when he got to President Kennedy’s name. “The attack on the White House wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?”

Steve sighed, taking the notebook back and closing it. “Sometimes when you punch time in the face, it punches back. Where I come from, President Kennedy was assassinated in Texas, in 1963. We changed that in this timeline. But there are certain events that…time sort of pivots around, like a hinge—I don’t know how else to explain it—and when those events are changed it can cause bigger ripples. I guess JFK’s assassination was one of them.”

Bucky nodded like he understood, his eyes unfocused staring at the Tahoe’s touch screen and all the random buttons. “Was I responsible? The other me? That list he wrote. I recognize my own handwriting.”

The air inside the Tahoe felt charged, full of static electricity. Steve didn’t know if he was doing the right thing, telling Bucky all of this, but he went with his gut. “Yes, and no. Hydra had control of his mind for…many years.”

The little color Bucky had regained bled away. He looked like he might throw up. Steve was very conscious that they’d been away too long from whatever was going on upstairs and that at any moment someone might wander down to the basement, but he couldn’t rush Bucky through this. Bucky’s face tightened as if he were in physical pain and he shook his head. 

“I think I knew this. Somehow,” he said. “Like an echo or something. Like a twisted sort of _déjà vu._ ” In Bucky’s eyes, Steve saw a shadow of the Winter Soldier. “Do you have a picture of him?”

The question took Steve by surprise, but he picked up his cell phone and found the picture he’d taken of Bucky the day they’d time hopped back five years. How long ago had that been? How many decades? 

In the picture, Bucky stared unsmiling at the camera, moody and taciturn and grumpy. A pang of homesickness rattled Steve. Somewhere in his past and in his future, Bucky waited for Steve by the quantum platform. But when he looked up, this different Bucky gave him almost the exact same look, and that made him smile. “That’s him,” he said, handing over the cell phone. 

Bucky inspected the phone curiously, then he studied the picture with an almost identical expression to the Bucky looking up at him. Steve showed him how to zoom in.

“His hair’s too long,” said Bucky. 

“Yeah,” said Steve with a smile. 

They fell silent while Bucky frowned at the screen, maybe searching for something in his counterpart’s eyes or in his expression, zooming in as close as the cell phone allowed. “Poor bastard,” said Bucky, quietly. 

Bucky could have been talking about the guy in the picture or himself. Trying to be protective of both of them, Steve took the phone back and left it on the dash before they got out of the car. 

Steve took Mjolnir and set it down in the driver-side seat. Just for a little while, he said to it in his mind. Bucky bent to look at the hammer more closely. “What is it?” he asked.

“Its name is Mjolnir,” said Steve. “I’m borrowing it, from a friend. It’s from Asgard, but a dwarf made it, forged in the heart of a dying star. That’ll make a lot more sense to you in about…” he did quick math. “Oh, forty-five years.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose, then shook his head. “All right. This conversation has officially gotten too weird for me.” Steve grinned, then auto-locked all doors. The car shimmered back under its cloak. Bucky raised his eyebrows. “That’s…pretty cool,” he said. 

They put the wood paneling back, but before they starting up the stairs Bucky tugged on Steve’s arm. 

“Can I confess something to you?” he asked.

Steve felt elated that Bucky wanted to confide in him, and he tried to play it off like it was no big deal. “Okay,” he said. 

“It’s just that, I don’t think I’m that good a friend sometimes,” said Bucky, now with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. 

“What do you mean, not a good friend? What are you talking about?”

“I’m serious. I was relieved when I learned Peggy got married.” Steve froze, totally taken aback, staring at Bucky. “That’s part of the reason I like Joseph Grant, before I knew you were you, if you get my meaning. Because he married her. I’m not proud of it, okay, but that meant she was out of the picture. And, that…I wouldn’t lose him. To her. Of course if it had to be someone, no one better than Peggy. But that just made it worse, that I like her so much. He would have married her, and I don’t know if… there would have been space for me there. But he couldn’t marry her, because she was already married. I feel selfish. Happy that my best friend got his heart broken. And then I find out that she married _you_. How’s that for a kick in the pants? But, I don’t know, it kind of makes me feel better, although I don’t think it should. Or should it?”

Steve had let Bucky rattle on, too stunned to say anything. Several things popped into his mind at once but first and foremost was a giddy sort of overwhelming affection for Bucky, that this is what he needed to confess to Steve, an all too human jealousy because he didn’t want to lose his best friend to someone else.

“What?” asked Bucky. “Why are you smiling at me?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” said Steve, shaking him. 

“Hey, that’s my line,” said Bucky, shy and trying to duck away from Steve, but Steve wouldn’t let him. 

“Buck, would you look at me?” asked Steve, not letting go until Bucky sighed and squared his shoulders. When he finally had Bucky’s full attention, Steve said, “It’s not a competition, between you and Peggy. It never would have been. Not in his heart, nor in mine.”

Bucky had deep furrows in his brow. He bit his lip. “It’s just…after Zola, and then those years searching for him in the ice. I don’t know if I could have handled it. To find him, but then not get to keep him. It’s been eating at me all this time.”

Steve almost confessed everything he had done in another lifetime in search of Bucky, to bring him home, all those old wounds rising to the surface again. He’d stolen time for Bucky. He’d gone into the past to save him from Zola. And he’d do a lot more if he could. 

He made sure he had Bucky’s attention. “You shouldn’t feel bad about needing him. He needs you just as badly.” Bucky gave him a doubtful, disbelieving look. “Oh, he does. He’d be lost without you. Trust me. Things went sideways for Bucky and me, in my time. Doesn’t mean we care for each other any less. There was a lot that pulled us apart, and our timing sucked. We never got much of a chance. But it’s different for you and Rogers here. Believe me when I say it, he’s crazy about you.”

Bucky looked a little confused, lowering his eyes. Then, with another change of expression, he asked, “Hey, do you have any of that lasagna?” 

Steve wanted to laugh, but he was a little too choked up to do it. “Dumb ass. You know, it’s your lasagna recipe. You taught it to me.”

“No kidding?” asked Bucky, pleased. 

There was a noise from the top of the stairs, then Peggy called down. “Darling?” she asked. 

Steve clapped Bucky hard on the back, pulling him in for another quick hug before letting him go and calling up the stairs. “Down here,” he answered. 

He watched her shoes take careful steps down the rickety stairs. Steve held out a hand to guide her. “Where have you been? Did you run away?” she asked, tilted her head in inquiry when she saw he wasn’t wrapped in illusion. Then, she noticed Bucky and her mouth dropped open. She looked from one to the other and back again. 

“He knows,” said Steve, quickly. “He saw the hammer. I left it in the kitchen. My bad. We were just having a chat.”

Peggy was speechless as she looked from Steve to Bucky. Bucky gave her a meek sort of smile and a little wave hello. Then, all of a sudden her shoulder’s dropped and she deflated with a full-bodied sigh. “Oh thank God,” she said, throwing herself into Bucky’s arms. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is, not being the only one who knows. Do you have any idea what it’s been like, managing two Steve Rogers?”

Bucky instinctually put his arms around Peggy, but his expression turned into one of horror. “Oh no,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that. Two Steves.”

“Hey,” said Steve, in protest, though he was melting inside seeing Peggy and Bucky together like that. “I’m standing right here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Peggy, scoffing and going from Bucky’s arms to Steve’s arms. “I wouldn’t change a moment of it, but it’ll be wonderful having back up.”

There came another noise from the top of the basement stairs and a second later Rogers called down. “Peggy? You there? Bucky, where are you?”

Peggy and Bucky shared their first moment of solidarity, exchanging looks between them. Steve felt distinctly put out but also highly amused. He quickly changed his appearance, Bucky watching with wonder, then Steve gave Peggy a nod okay. “We’re here,” she called up to Rogers. “In the basement.”

Rogers came down the stairs and looked relieved when he saw Bucky. “There you are. Where’d you disappear to?”

“I was just talking to…” Bucky paused, turning to look at Steve. “To Joseph,” he said, frowning as he said it. Smooth, thought Steve. 

There was an awkward moment as Rogers realized that they had all been down there talking without him. He looked from Bucky to Peggy, and then finally to Joseph Grant. A hard, uncertain expression crossed his face, closed off and reserved. “Right,” he said, turning to Peggy. “Well. We better get back upstairs. Howard’s asking for you.”

He left without saying anything else. Bucky sighed heavily. “I see what you mean,” he said to Peggy. “Do you call them Thing One and Thing Two?”

Peggy laughed. 

“Oh come on,” said Steve, feeling the need to defend his counterpart. “That’s not fair. He’s going through a lot. SHIELD’s about to collapse. Again. Get up there,” he said to Bucky. 

Bucky started up the stairs following by Peggy, but they both stopped, speaking almost at the same time. 

“Wait, what did you say?” asked Bucky, just as Peggy said, “Again?” 

“Never mind,” said Steve, innocently, ushering them forward. “I didn’t say anything.” As they stepped into the kitchen, he said, “I think I know who the real Thing One and Thing Two are.”

He got twin murderous glares from both of them.


	4. The 1970s

When 1970 rolled around, Steve went on high alert, but so much was different between this version of 1970 compared to the other 1970 he had visited. For one, SHIELD had almost entirely relocated to the Stark mansion in Manhattan. 

On April 7, he watched Peggy dress for the day, putting on a dark navy blue dress. They hadn’t yet moved from the Wheaton house, though they had discussed buying a place in Brooklyn to be closer to SHIELD. He went with her into the office and tried to act natural as he skulked around the different floors and departments, occasionally taking a walk outside to check the perimeter of the building. He hovered outside Hank Pym’s laboratory until Pym noticed and got irritated, demanding to know what he wanted. 

“Nothing,” he answered, trying to act innocent. Pym blocked his way into the lab, not letting him pass, but Steve managed a peek anyway, seeing the red vials of Pym particles lined up in the back. “Anything out of the ordinary?” he asked. “All good down here?” 

Pym, never the most welcoming to begin with, did not look amused. “Would you tell Howard, if he sends any more of his goons down here, rifling through my research, I will pack up everything I have and he will never see me again. For the last time, I’m not a damn Hydra agent.”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Steve, backing away. “Security measures, you understand. Just want to make sure everything is okay.”

“Get the hell out of here,” said Pym. 

If he wanted to check on the Tesseract, he’d have to drive out to the bunker where it remained in cold storage in sub-level eight. But it would be pointless. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew—no one had come from the future to steal Pym particles or borrow the Tesseract. And if they had, he wouldn’t know about it.

A little less than two months later, Tony Stark was born. Steve got a frantic phone call from Howard at four o’clock in the morning. Howard was in Zurich for a business meeting when Maria went into labor two weeks ahead of schedule and he didn’t know if he would make it back in time. Peggy was on a mission with Rogers and Bucky under a communication blackout and couldn’t be reached. Gabe Jones was also on the same mission with Rogers and Bucky, and Dum Dum was in southern Florida. The other Howling Commandoes were scattered across the globe. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you go be with her?” asked Howard, the line crackling from the long distance. “Until I get there. Jarvis and I are leaving on a flight right now. There’s…no one else I trust.”

It meant a lot for Howard to admit this. He had never warmed up to Joseph Grant, but they’d had decades together as acquaintances, day in day out, building something close to a friendship. 

“Of course,” he said immediately, throwing on clothes and shoes and heading for the door. “I’m on my way. Don’t worry. Just get here as soon as you can.”

He drove into Manhattan and managed to get to Maria in time to escort her to the hospital. She was flustered without Howard, and a little scared, but he made her smile in between contractions. It was several hours of hard labor. Maria wanted Steve in the delivery room with her, so despite grumblings from the hospital staff they scrubbed him up and put a cap on his head and made him wear a gown. Steve had the impression that if Maria hadn’t been Mrs. Stark, they would not have allowed it. He held her hand through the contractions until Howard finally showed up.

Mightily relieved to see him, Steve moved out of the way so Howard could take his place. He intended to wait outside and give the couple privacy but Maria turned to him. “It’s okay,” she said. “Please stay.”

So, Steve witnessed Howard Stark welcoming his newborn son into the world. 

After they took the baby away and it looked like Maria would be fine with no serious complications, Steve went with Howard to the waiting room. It was morning. Sunlight filtered in through the windows. Steve saw Peggy first, bathed in morning light, with her hair pinned back, dressed in her tactical gear. The sight of her lifted his heart, like always. Then, he noticed Bucky and Rogers also waiting to hear the news. Maria’s labor had taken long enough that they all made it in time, including Gabe and even Dum Dum was there. 

“It’s a boy,” announced Howard, and then proudly stuffed cigars into everyone’s mouths. It was the happiest Steve had ever seen him, but it left him feeling bittersweet as he remembered Tony and Morgan.

Later that day, after he and Peggy went home to change, they returned to bring a proper gift of flowers and a card to Maria’s room. The nurses had brought Tony in for feeding, but Maria needed to use the bathroom and wanted Peggy to help her. Howard disappeared to get coffee. Maria asked Steve to hold the baby.

Alone with the small wrapped bundle, Steve stood by the window, cradling the baby in his arms. The afternoon sun was not as harsh as it had been in the morning, and soft rays filtered in, giving a golden aura to the room—not unlike the light of the Soul Stone, he thought. He looked down at the baby’s face. 

“Hi Tony,” he said, pushing the fabric aside so he could look at him properly. Very little of the features he knew so well were evident, until Tony wrinkled his nose and tried to turn his face away, which seemed only fair. There you are, thought Steve. He freed Tony’s right arm. It was so small, the tiny hand curled into a fist. Steve pressed Tony’s palm to his lips. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to get here.”

1970 marked a change for Steve. It divided his stay in this timeline—everything that happened before Tony Stark, and then everything that would happen after. But there were still decades to go. 

With his business and law degrees, he formed a human rights aid relief organization, hiring mostly veterans. He called it Nomad. Publicly, he intended to work with government agencies and other relief groups to provide advocacy and outreach for anyone who needed it, foreign and domestic but focusing on war-stricken countries. Privately, Nomad had one purpose: to save as many lives as it could. With ad hoc tactical teams, if he saw a conflict where lives were at risk, or if children might be harmed, the organization provided cover for a more hands-on approach. 

Several months after Tony was born, he went out into the garden of the Wheaton house and began digging up the weeds overtaking the flowerbeds. Between Peggy’s work with SHIELD and his busy schedule, they had let it get overrun. It was past lunchtime when a shadow—long and tall—fell across the flowerbed. He paused. He knew of only three people who could sneak up on him like that and one of them wasn’t born yet. Squinting, he looked up at his younger counterpart, dressed in civilian clothes and looking uncomfortable. 

“Hello,” he said, rising from the ground, dusting off his garden gloves. They sized each other up. “If you’re looking for Peggy, she’s at headquarters. Won’t be back till four o’clock at the earliest.”

Rogers shook his head. “Actually, I’m here to see you.”

Both of Steve’s eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead, trying to get a read on Rogers but he was closed off and reserved. It was obvious something bothered him—his jaw was set, and he held his arms too casually by his side. 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t an emergency. 

“All right,” said Steve, lifting his cap to wipe his brow. “I could use a break. And a beer. Want a beer?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, heading back into the house. He got two beers out of the fridge, meeting Rogers on the back porch. They each took a sip, followed by an awkward silence. “What can I help you with?” 

Rogers grimaced as he took a breath, then visibly convinced himself to speak. “There’s a rumor going around SHIELD headquarters. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m guessing you haven’t, and Peggy probably hasn’t told you. She doesn’t take it seriously. Maybe I shouldn’t either. But, you’re going to hear it, eventually. And I couldn’t—I didn’t… I want to. Explain. Rather, I should explain. If that’s possible.”

Steve held up his hand. “Hold on there,” he said. It was painful to see himself so tongue-tied. He flashed on a memory from 1943—he and Peggy driving through the streets of Brooklyn, on their way to meet Erskine in the basement of a shop where his entire life would change. During that drive, he tripped over his words, barely able to form a sentence. The memory clued him into what this awkward meeting between him and this younger Steve might be about, and it left his stomach feeling hollow. “It’s best if you start at the beginning,” said Steve, calmly. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Can’t it?” asked Rogers, with a shaky not-quite-laugh. He paused, collecting his thoughts. “A few months back, the night Howard’s son was born, Peggy and I were on a mission in upstate New York. It was that Roxxon investigation. It’s been ongoing for years.”

“I know it,” said Steve. 

“Right. Well. Normally on a mission we don’t take phone calls. You know how it is. But when Howard Stark is trying to reach Peggy Carter… The agent who came to notify Peggy thought it was important. Not that Howard’s son isn’t important, but the news could have waited. All of us were holed up in a motel five miles from the Roxxon shipyard. We were in two rooms. Bucky and Gabe were in one, listening in on the surveillance. Peggy and I were in the second room. When the agent found us, we were…” he paused, then went beet red. “Peggy was undressed, and I was…It looked bad.”

It was like being punched in the stomach and having the wind knocked out of him. He told himself he had always expected something like this, but it still blindsided him out of nowhere. 

“Nothing happened,” said Rogers, taking a look at Steve’s expression and speaking quickly and earnestly. “Not then, and not before. Peggy needed to change clothes. She’d been undercover earlier and had to put on tactical gear. It wasn’t anything we hadn’t done a hundred times before. This team has worked together for years, certain boundaries fall away. We’ve actually been in far more compromising positions.” 

Steve frowned, folding his arms across his chest, wondering if he should stop this monologue or not. The shock had eased and now he was watching Rogers spiral, continuing in a rush. 

“The agent took what he saw and jumped to conclusions. Peggy talked to him and I thought that would be the end of it, but...there’s always been rumors. Except this time they’re saying—” He closed his eyes, shook his head, obviously unable to repeat it. “People don’t realize I can hear them, but I hear everything. Doesn’t matter that none of it is true, when it’s Captain America and Peggy Carter—everyone was raised on radio and television programs hyping up a romance between us. Whispers in the hallways. They shut up when she or I walk into a room. Innuendos, rude comments. I have to stop myself from punching people talking about her behind her back. Peggy says she’s dealt with worse, but I know it affects her. Even Dum Dum and Gabe give us looks. But I swear—I _swear_ that’s not how it is between Peggy and me. If it were going to happen, it would have happened ages ago. I’d eat my shield before I’d jeopardize her reputation like that. I—”

“Steve,” he said, finally deciding it was time to interrupt before Rogers blew a fuse. He raised a hand to stop him. “Relax. I believe you. It’s okay.”

There were two reasons why he believed nothing happened between Peggy and Rogers—at least nothing that could be labeled infidelity. For one, Rogers hadn’t learned to lie that well. He was telling the truth, so earnest he was practically making himself sick with it, even if it meant convincing the man who’d stolen his sweetheart. Secondly, if anything had happened, Peggy would have told him. 

He had long since decided he couldn’t and wouldn’t be jealous of his own self. It was an absurd situation to begin with. If Peggy was going to be able to do her job, if Rogers was going to live his own life free and clear of the ice, then they had to be who they needed to be for each other. Steve wasn’t going to get in the way of that. That wasn’t why he’d come back in time. Peggy had a deep and intimate friendship with Rogers, one that was separate from her marriage to him. He chose to trust her. 

“Relax,” he said again. “You and I both know Peggy can handle a little rumor-mongering. She’s right when she says she’s had to deal with worse. There was that time I almost punched a U.S. Senator for getting handsy with her. But she took care of it, not me. Just be her friend, like you always have been.” 

Rogers nodded as he listened, but he didn’t look at all relieved. Something still bothered him, something that didn’t sit right. He kept looking at Steve like he was trying to see inside his mind. 

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?” asked Steve. “It’s not about some rumor. At least not all of it.”

Rogers took his time, studying Steve so relentlessly that he began to worry the illusion would wear off. “Bucky said I could trust you,” he said, his jaw tight, his lips pinched. “Even more than Peggy. More than anyone, ‘cept maybe the guys, but they’re not… They’re not who I need to talk to. Is he right? Can I trust you?”

Steve felt his spine lock into place, as hard as vibranium. This was what it was like when Captain America asked for help. “Yes,” he said. “You can trust me.”

Rogers’s nostrils flared as he took a breath in, his chest swelling. Then, as if a dam had broken, he started talking, and everything poured out. Almost fifteen years had passed since he’d come out of the ice. Early on, he’d chosen to continue as Captain America because Peggy had asked him to, but his concerns about how the world had changed hadn’t gone away. This was a world of secrets and spies, and even if there were open hostilities, nothing was done to resolve conflicts—the driving agenda behind every mission pushed one superpower higher than another, jockeying for a top position in the geopolitical landscape. Even with Kennedy’s actions to bring about a peace with the USSR, which led to rooting out Hydra a second time and the near-collapse of SHIELD, not enough had changed. 

“I’ve gone to Peggy about this,” said Rogers. “It’s not like I haven’t spoken to her, but she works within the system. That’s how she gets things done. She stands her ground when she has to, but she’ll compromise for a greater purpose. And it’s not like I don’t understand the value of compromising. Howard thinks I’m too rigid, that I see things too black and white. But—it used to be we compromised to save lives, to give people hope, so that people could be free. Howard says that’s still our purpose, but what we’re doing now? That isn’t freedom.” He shook his head. “That’s not what it feels like. That’s not what my gut is telling me we’re doing. Propping up dictators? Funding one group of rebels to take down a government we don’t like only to make way for something worse? That’s not what I signed up for.”

Steve let his counterpart unburden his heart, and questioned whether he’d done this younger Steve Rogers any favors by having him live through the second half of the twentieth century. It reminded him of a thought he’d had when he first learned about Hydra existing within SHIELD, and the true nature of Project Insight—that SHIELD couldn’t have been compromised by Hydra if it wasn’t already diseased from the beginning. 

“And then there’s Bucky,” said Rogers, a slight pained look crossing his face. 

Steve felt a jolt of concern. “What about Bucky?” he asked, speaking for the first time in several minutes. 

Something tender entered Roger’s expression. “He’ll go wherever I go,” he said, and there was pain and love in the way he said it. “That makes me not want to walk down some of these roads. It makes me want to get out, and take him with me. Get him the hell away from all this. He and I. We—” He stopped, and the vulnerability there was gut-wrenching. 

“He and you, what?” asked Steve. 

“I’m sorry.” Rogers shook his head and seemed like he was about to bolt. “This isn’t something I have the right to say. I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

Steve grabbed his arm before he could make it down the porch steps, and didn’t let go. There was a long, pregnant pause as they looked at each other. “I said you can trust me.”

When he was certain Rogers wouldn’t leave, he let go of his arm. A car honked on the street corner. Nearby, someone played the radio too loud. Steve could see the half-weeded flowerbed at the far end of the garden. He wouldn’t be getting any more work done that day. Their two unfinished beers sat side-by-side on the porch railing. 

They stayed in silence until Rogers was ready to speak again. “You ever wonder how come neither he nor I ever date anyone?”

It took a heartbeat for Steve to lock onto what he was implying. It was like a second and a third punch to his gut, but this time he was knocked upside down and right side up at the same time. Holy shit, thought Steve. He didn’t know how he could be so surprised while at the same time wondering what had taken them so long. He was going to have words with Bucky for not giving him a heads up. It felt like he’d just been given the greatest gift imaginable. 

Misinterpreting his silence, the other Steve turned another shade of red and looked vaguely like he might throw up, but before he could try and leave again, Steve held up his hand. “Give me a minute. It’s a lot to process.”

“I shouldn’t have told you,” said the other Steve, shaking his head. “Or at least I should have discussed it with Bucky first.” 

“Oh I disagree. Well not about discussing it with Bucky, but I’m quite honored that you did tell me.” He smiled at the blatant look of disbelief he received. “I mean it,” he said, waiting until the other Steve acknowledged he was saying the truth with an answering nod. “How long? When did it start?”

The other Steve creased his brow in thought. “Not too long after I got out of the ice. But it was kind of off and on at the beginning. Neither he nor I knew what we were doing. We still don’t. I don’t mean with—” He colored again, turning almost purple this time. “What we do. Uh…together. In private. I mean how we want to be with each other. To each other. What is it we want? I’m still not certain.” 

There was that tongue-tied Steve Rogers again. He felt a wave of tenderness for his own self. It was the oddest sensation. But this was 1970, not 2023 or even 2012. If he knew this Steve at all, then he knew his desire for privacy would battle against his sense of injustice. So much of being Captain America happened in pubic that he naturally guarded his private life. But there was a difference between private and hidden. 

“How can you be certain, when it’s difficult to be open about it. That’s not either of your faults. Does anyone else know?”

“No one else,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if Peggy suspects.” He paused, looking curiously at Steve. “You’re not… offended? This doesn’t go against your beliefs?”

Steve smiled. It wasn’t a big smile, but it was sincere. He shook his head. “No,” he said, and Rogers finally, truly, relaxed.

“I guess I can understand why most believe I’ve been holding a torch for Peggy all this time,” said Rogers, chagrined. “Nor would they be exactly wrong about that either. Part of the reason for Bucky’s hesitance. He doesn’t think I know that, but I do.”

There was a good deal of reproach in Roger’s tone, some anger at himself that tied into his feelings about SHIELD and his confusion over his place in the world. There was a lot to untangle there, wants and desires mixed with duty and the weight of responsibility. Captain America carried the weight of that shield on his back. Steve tended to think of his younger counterpart like he was still that kid that came out of the ice, but he was over forty years old now, older than Steve had been when Thanos happened.

“Do you want to know what I think?” asked Steve. 

“All right,” Rogers answered, furrowing his brow.

“These government agencies—SHIELD, CIA, the United Nations—they only get it right about a quarter of the time, if that. And that’s assuming Hydra isn’t still lurking somewhere tilting the odds, driving things their way, which is a real possibility. There will be other agencies to take over for these. New agencies and security councils and whatever else will be formed that are supposed to be better than the previous ones. They’re each a distraction. They’re noise. You know what you have to do. You’ve always known.”

He watched the other Steve’s features shift as he processed his words. It was like looking in a mirror. Objectively, he knew he was handsome, but all Steve saw when he looked at himself was the skinny kid from Brooklyn, still picking himself up from the dirt of an alley. 

“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?” he asked. 

“What? Sure.”

“No,” said Steve, shaking his head. “Have you looked? I mean, really looked? Have you seen yourself next to Peggy? Well, have you?”

“I…”

“You’re going to outlive her.” 

Rogers blanched to the color of a sheet of paper. It made Steve feel guilty, but not enough to stop. 

“You will live years without her. Decades. If you’re aging, it’s much slower than everyone else. Well. Except for Bucky. So you got lucky there. Do you understand what I’m saying? This time is precious. Don’t waste it worrying about SHIELD. Resign if you have to. Do what you need to do, what you want to do. Hell, let Bucky take the shield for a bit. You think I’m kidding, but we both know he’d be great as Captain America.” He paused, observing the other Steve. “Bucky tells me you still have that old compass. I know where your faith lies. Your faith lies in her. It lies with your friends. With people. Don’t forget who you’re fighting for. This world is changing, for both good and bad. I wish I could tell you that things get easier down the road, but you know they won’t.”

Deep in the old SHIELD bunker just a few miles away lay the Tesseract, a doorway to the other side of the universe. Somewhere in a Sanctum, in New York or Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One guarded the Time Stone. Thanos would come after both Stones, one way or another. He’ll come for the Mind Stone, when Loki brings it to Earth. No one on this planet, except for himself, knew yet what was in store for them. 

Rogers sunk into deep thought. To give him some privacy, Steve took their flat, lukewarm beers into the kitchen, dumping the liquid into the sink. He was starving so he made a couple of sandwiches, and took a tray out to the porch. They sat on the steps and ate in silence, listening to the radio from the neighbor’s house. From his pocket, Steve took out a newly printed business card. “Here,” he said, handing it over.

“What’s this?” asked Rogers, taking the card. 

“It’s a non-profit company I formed. I’m calling it Nomad.”

Rogers turned the card, flipping it around and then back again, creasing his brow with a question as he assessed Steve like he would any other tactical partner. What he saw was a middle-aged man creeping past fifty years old, with graying hair. But he seemed able to see beyond that, like he could see through the illusion. Rogers knew Joseph Grant could take care of himself in a fight. “Should I assume you do more than diplomacy?”

Steve grinned, then shrugged. “Think about it,” he said. “Talk it over with Bucky.”

There was a noise from the front door of the house as Peggy came home. Steve glanced at his watch, surprised that it was four already. She called out in greeting, asking where he was. The two Steves gave each other a look as they stood up. “Out here,” he answered.

When she stepped onto the back porch, Peggy looked from her husband to her friend with undisguised surprise. For some reason, Steve felt like they were the ones that had been caught in a compromising act. But a broad smile broke across Peggy’s face. “Steve, what a wonderful surprise,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just uh—” He floundered, casting around for a convincing excuse. “I was just here to…” He looked to Steve for help.

Steve thought about letting him get out of this pickle all by himself, but he ultimately couldn’t leave a buddy hanging like that. “Oh Bucky called earlier,” he lied, as Peggy turned to him. “He asked if I had any of that lasagna. Steve was in the area so he offered to pick it up.”

“That’s right,” said Rogers, jumping on the excuse. “He really loves that lasagna.”

“Well, why don’t you both stay for dinner?” asked Peggy. “Is Barnes far? Can he make it?”

Rogers was surprised into silence. He looked from Peggy to Steve, and there was this tiny bead of panic in his eyes. 

Steve guessed they weren’t quite ready for a couples dinner, all four of them together. He could see it playing out like a plot from a bad movie—a dinner party with an ex-girlfriend, a current boyfriend, and a rival who was the same person as you but from the future, but you don’t even know that. A comedy of errors. In theaters soon.

“Uh, sweetheart,” said Steve, taking Peggy’s hand. “Maybe not tonight. We have plans.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking but picking up on Steve’s silent message to her. It was an obvious lie, but that seemed to make it easier. “Of course,” she said with a smile, turning back to Rogers. “Perhaps some other time.”

“Sure,” Rogers answered, relieved to have a safe way out of the conversation. “I should get going.”

“Let me get that lasagna for you,” said Steve, heading into the kitchen. 

As he located clean Tupperware and took out the lasagna from the fridge, he could hear their conversation on the porch. 

“Are you all right?” asked Peggy. “Sorry if I made that awkward.”

“No, you’re fine. And I’m okay. Honest.”

“But why are you here?”

“For lasagna,” he said, but the doubtful silence that followed didn’t seem satisfied. “Peg, I’m okay.”

After a beat, Peggy let it go. “Will you be at the meeting tomorrow? Eleven hundred hours.”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

Deeming the private part of their conversation over with, Steve took the container of leftover lasagna and returned to the back porch. “Here you go,” he said robustly and like he hadn’t been eavesdropping, handing it over to the other Steve. “Enjoy that.”

Rogers took the container, then looked a little sheepishly at Peggy, leaning in to peck her cheek. Big old softy, thought Steve. Then Rogers offered him his hand. “Thank you,” he said. 

Steve was reminded again of what it meant to have Captain America give you his full attention. He took Rogers’s hand—his friend’s hand—and held on firmly. “Any time,” he said. 

He would have walked Rogers to his car but it didn’t seem appropriate, so he remained on the back porch as Rogers walked away. Peggy opened her mouth to speak. Steve raised a finger to his lips and shook his head, waiting until he heard a car door open and shut. Once the car had turned the corner, then he nodded to Peggy, letting her know it was safe to speak. 

“What was that about?” she demanded, not quite upset but definitely concerned. 

Steve decided what to say to her. He had no intention of betraying Rogers’s confidence, not even to Peggy. But she already knew about some of it. “He came to tell me about some rumor going around headquarters? About the two of you.”

As the Director of SHIELD, Peggy was the subject of many rumors so it took her a moment to figure out which rumor he meant, reading the clues on his face. Her mouth fell open. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” she said, scoffing, rolling her eyes. “You can’t be serious? That’s ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculous or not, it’s got _him_ wound tighter than a pretzel. Enough that he felt the need to come explain it to me, which is saying something. You know how he is. How I am. We take this sort of thing seriously.”

“Well you shouldn’t,” she said, her color high. She frowned, placing a hand on his shirt, right over his heart. “You don’t believe it? Do you?”

Today, her dress was a dark wine red. Threads of silver glinted in her hair, pinned back in her customary style, crowfeet starting at the corners of her eyes. She looked at him with worry, but he smiled, memorizing every detail of her face. “Do I believe he’ll always love you? Yes, I do,” he said. 

She blushed, then folded herself into his arms. More radio music floated into the garden from the neighbor’s house, changing to a slow love song. He recognized the singer—an ex-Beatle, he thought. 

_Maybe I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time,_ sang the song. _Maybe I’m a lonely man who’s in the middle of something, that he doesn’t really understand._

He swung her out then swung her back in. They danced on the porch as the evening rolled in.


	5. The 1990s

Howard and Maria raised Tony in California, keeping him away from all things SHIELD, but they went back and forth between coasts often enough for Steve to be a part of Tony’s life when he was growing up. He spent more time with Tony than Peggy did, her work keeping her busy. At times, it seemed he spent more time with Tony than Howard did. 

As a toddler, Tony looked so much like Morgan Stark that it made Steve ache. Tony was a sensitive kid. He may not know why but he knew when his Mom was upset, he knew when his Dad was frustrated and conflicted. He’d look at Steve with his big brown eyes, sad because he didn’t understand why Steve was sad, and he’d climb into Steve’s arms to pet his face and say, “It’s okay,” then rest his head against Steve’s shoulder until Steve felt better. 

Tony idolized Captain America. If Steve was babysitting for Maria, he sometimes convinced both Bucky and Rogers to come over in full Captain America uniform just to give Tony a thrill. When he grew into a teenager, Tony’s idolization of Captain America turned into a full-blown crush. Rogers and Bucky were fond of Tony and took him under their wing. They were honorary uncles to all of the Howling Commandoes’ kids, but by the time Tony was a teenager, the other kids were all adults. Rogers and Bucky took Tony to ball games. They took him to the movies. Sometimes they invited him camping. They showed up at Tony’s school to pal around with him and Tony’s friends. They did all the big brother things. It’s part of what made what happened later so painful for everyone. 

In late 1991, Peggy announced she’d received intelligence of a possible assassination attempt on Howard Stark. Keller, recently made a Director of SHIELD by Howard, questioned her heavily on her sources. But she wouldn’t say. It gave Bucky an excuse to assigned himself as bodyguard, though Howard didn’t think he needed the extra security. 

On December 16, without clearing it with Bucky first and before their flight to the Bahamas, Howard drove Maria from their place in Manhattan to Washington D.C. Suspecting that Howard would try and pull a stunt like this, Bucky followed on his motorbike. On a dark stretch of road, a car came out of nowhere and crashed into Howard’s car. It spun and hit a tree. The assassin got out, ready to finish the job and kill both Howard and Maria and make it look like an accident, but Bucky got there in time. He fought and tried to restrain the Hydra agent. The assassin bit down on a false tooth and died instantly. Both Howard and Maria were injured but alive. Howard stumbled from his side of the car, trying to get to his wife. The trunk had popped open upon impact, causing the briefcase Howard had placed in there to fly out, the contents spilling onto the road. 

Bucky recognized the violently blue intravenous bags of supersoldier serum as soon as he saw them. When he looked at Howard’s battered face, he saw guilt and shame as well as defiance. 

“Howard, what have you done?” asked Bucky. 

But Howard shook his head, turning to free Maria from her seatbelt. 

The discovery that Howard Stark had developed more supersoldier serum caused an explosion within SHIELD that was greater than any damage an actual bomb could have made. No one had ever seen Steve Rogers this mad before. But Howard hadn’t acted alone. Most of the top brass at SHIELD were in on it, though they had kept Peggy out of the loop. 

“Did you use my blood to make it?” demanded Rogers. They were all standing in a conference room on one of the top floors of the Triskelion. Howard was the only one sitting down, covered in bandages and still recovering from his injuries, wheeling around a metal IV stand. 

Steve was standing beside Peggy. As she got older, he had started coming to work with her every day. “He couldn’t have,” said Peggy. “I destroyed his sample.” 

But a tense silence filled the room. Peggy’s face fell when Howard shook his head. 

“The SSR still had a vial,” said Howard, not meeting her eyes. “It’s been kept in a vault at the Playground.”

Though she was seventy years old, Peggy lunged at Howard like she intended to punch him in the face, having no compunction in attacking an injured man. Steve just barely managed to hold her back. 

When the commotion died down, Rogers spoke to Keller. “I destroyed the serum,” he said, ignoring the look Keller gave his subordinates before he turned to address Howard. “And I want your research. All of it.” When no one moved, he took one step closer and everyone’s back stiffened. “Do I have to ask again?”

“Now, see here, Rogers,” said Keller, in his lackadaisical tone of voice, trying to sound like they were friends and this was just a minor misunderstanding. “You can’t do that. You step outside this building with government property, and,” he paused, “You will be arrested.”

There was a beat of silence, then both Howard and Peggy turned to Keller and spoke at the same time. 

“Have you lost your goddamn minds?” Howard asked Keller. 

“Director Keller,” said Peggy, her hands on her hips. “This is Captain Steve Rogers. If any of you attempt to arrest him, lay hands on him, or even look at him cross-eyed, I will have each of you tried for treason.”

A distinct chill settled over the room. Battle lines were drawn. It was Keller and his wall of SHIELD suits on one side against Rogers and Bucky on the other, with Howard and Peggy stuck somewhere in the middle. Nick Fury, Steve noticed, kind of hung back from the others, using the vantage point to observe the different players. Always the spy, thought Steve, though he thought it with relief. It would be a tough universe if Nick Fury didn’t exist in it.

After a tense silence, Howard got up from his seat and, wheeling the IV stand with him, went over to the only phone in the room. “This is Stark,” he said into the phone. “Pack everything we have on the serum project. You heard me. Everything. Bring it up to the conference room on the 41st floor.” 

Howard hung up the phone, then stared at it for a long moment before he turned back to face the room. Keller tried speaking, but Howard raised a hand to stop him. “We should have brought Rogers in on it. That’s my fault,” he said, locking eyes with Rogers. Then he swayed on his feet. 

Rogers was the first to reach him, guiding him to a chair. Peggy, though obviously still furious, poured him a glass of water, which he drank with a shaking hand. Howard was an old man and the assassination attempt had aged him further. A few minutes later, one of his lab assistants entered with a couple of boxes. The remaining blood sample was in one of them. Howard indicated the assistant should give the box to Rogers. Then, more slowly this time, he stood back up, offering Rogers his hand to shake. “You’ll have to trust that I’ll wipe the computers,” he said. 

Steve, who had watched this entire scene with his heart in his throat, had to admire Howard. He always did admire him, since the beginning. Howard didn’t often waste time with apologies. He accepted his responsibility and that was that. He did what he did, no excuses, and then lived with his regrets. Sometimes he tried to make it better. Steve saw some of these same qualities in Tony, though Tony was, ultimately, more vulnerable. And the better man. 

Rogers took his time, battling some internal tug of war, showing his own regret as he furrowed his brow. With a quiet nod to the friendship they shared for so many years, he took Howard’s hand and held it tight before letting go. 

Howard then offered his hand to Bucky, and said, “Thanks for saving my life, Sergeant.”

Bucky flushed. He looked from one Steve to the other, then back at Howard. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, taking Howard’s hand. “You’re one of the Howling Commandoes. You always were.”

Howard stood straight, unaided, and nodded. “Go on. Get out of here.”

They each took a box, then left the conference room. Neither one of them returned to the Triskelion until the day the Project Insight carriers fell from the sky. 

But that wasn’t the end. The end came six months later, when Hydra agents kidnapped Howard Stark in broad daylight, right in front of Tony, when father and son were exiting a lecture hall at MIT. Hydra was determined to get their hands on that serum, one way or the other. One moment Howard was there, arguing with Tony, and then the next second they grabbed him and he was gone, vanished without a trace. 

After the first several hours of investigation didn’t turn up any leads, both Steve and Peggy escorted Tony back to New York so he could be with Maria. During the flight, Tony sat with his leg bouncing up and down, white with fear and confusion, nervous energy flying off of him so strongly he practically gave off sparks. 

When they arrived at the Stark residence in upper Manhattan, Tony hugged his mother then headed straight for the bar, pouring two tumblers with whiskey, drinking both in rapid succession. Steve and Peggy gave each other a look. Maria seemed more worried than anything else. 

“Tony,” Steve said, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony let Steve turn him around, but whatever Steve planned on saying next dried up in his throat. When Tony raised his tear-filled eyes to his, Steve saw the same gut-punched look of hurt and betrayal that the other Tony had given him in that long-forgotten Siberian facility when he learned how his father died and that Steve had known. 

This younger Tony took the whiskey bottle, pushed past Steve, then ran up the stairs of the penthouse. A moment later, they heard a door slam shut.

Steve sighed. Consequences. Always goddamn consequences. But he knew what he had to do. He owed it to Tony. Not the heartbroken kid currently drowning his pain and confusion, shut up in his room, but the other Tony. He owed it to the Tony that had turned to Steve with a hurt so deep it cracked his voice, asking, “Did you know?”

When Steve returned to the main part of the living room, Peggy was guiding Maria to the couch. The two agents who had been with Maria before their arrival hovered in the background. It was times like this that Steve truly missed Jarvis. Edwin Jarvis had died several years before, leaving a giant hole in the Stark household. Peggy took Maria’s hand. “SHIELD is doing everything we can to find him,” she said. “Fortunately, we believe Hydra needs him alive. I know it’s not much comfort.”

Maria nodded. She was looking around the room, as if trying to recognize her possessions, trying to figure out where she was in time and space. Her eyes met Steve’s and she reached for him. He went to her immediately. Ever since he’d escorted her to the hospital the day Tony was born, they’d become good friends. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said to her. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. He put his arm around her and cradled her back and forth. 

“She’s in shock,” said Peggy. Though she had threatened to beat up Howard just a few months ago, on this day her worry made her look frail, like a strong wind could blow her apart. “Do you think we should call her doctor?”

Maria shook her head. “We called him earlier,” she said, her voice thin. She gestured to the coffee table where several pill bottles were lined up. “He’s already been here.”

Peggy examined each bottle, reading the labels, then picked one. She opened it and took out one pill, pouring Maria a glass of water. “It’s a sleeping pill,” she said. “You need rest.”

“No,” protested Maria. “I don’t want to sleep. I can’t sleep. What if he needs me? What if he comes home? And Tony. Tony needs me.”

“Maria,” said Steve, taking her hand gently. “Peggy’s right. It’s two in the morning. You need rest. You don’t have to take the pill if you don’t want to, but you should lie down.”

Maria looked vacant-eyed, and Steve wondered how many tranquilizers she’d already had. “Will you sit with me?” she asked. 

“Of course,” he said. He helped her to stand, exchanging a quick look with Peggy who nodded in answer, then she turned to the two agents and began quietly issuing orders. 

Upstairs, the hallway was filled with the noise of loud music accompanied by a lot of banging and clanking. Maria glanced at Steve, then walked unaided to Tony’s room. The music died down when she entered. Steve stayed in the hallway but he could see through the open door. Maria sat on Tony’s bed with Tony curled up on his side, his head in her lap. She stayed with him for maybe ten minutes, before kissing his forehead, leaving him resting in a fetal position. 

In the master bedroom, Maria only removed her shoes then lay down fully dressed on the bed above the covers. Steve placed a blanket over her and darkened the lights, pulling the armchair closer, watching over her until the tranquilizers in her system did their work, and she drifted off to sleep. 

Twenty minutes later he went downstairs and found Peggy had set up a small command center in the kitchen. The two agents were on cell phones, typing away on boxy laptop computers. Two more computers had been brought in, their screens showing maps of Europe. Peggy was on the landline, pacing back and forth. She hung up when their eyes met. 

“How is she?”

“They’re both asleep,” he answered. She tilted her head when she realized there was more he had to say. “Can we speak?” He looked at the other two agents. “In private.”

He led her from the kitchen, through the living room, then out to the balcony where he was reasonably certain no one could overhear their conversation. Manhattan glittered at night. From where they stood, he could see the site that would one day become Avengers Tower. He gripped the railing. 

“What is it?” asked Peggy.

He turned to her. She was still the classy, elegant woman he’d always loved. Despite the stress and all their traveling, not a hair was out of place. She wasn’t young anymore, but her age brought a kind of light to her skin. To him, it made her beautiful. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I know where he is. I know where they took him.”

Her eyes widened, and she made a noise of excitement. “But…that’s good. That’s marvelous. You can tell me. I’ll have a team ready to go in no time. I can speak to Fury. He’s good, the best we have right now. We can work out the details later. I just have to call—”

She went to open the glass doors, but he stopped her, shaking his head. “There isn’t time for that. SHIELD can’t go in. Nor can Nomad. No team will get to him in time. I don’t think Howard will last that long.” 

Hydra would know their time was limited. They’d press hard for the serum formula. Either Howard buckled under torture and agreed to give it to Hydra and then they killed him or he refused and they killed him anyway. There was no other way out of this. Which meant, Howard would die before he saw his family again. 

“I’m going to go get him,” he said, caressing her hand. She was looking intently at him, her thoughts traveling at lightning speed. “But that means, I have to leave you alone. Will you be all right?”

She straightened, not missing his meaning. She hadn’t had symptoms in weeks and might go months without an episode. But the last time it happened, out of the blue everything in her life became unfamiliar. It had left her rattled, unnerved, and terrified. Peggy wasn’t one to bow to fear easily, but it was getting harder to pretend everything was all right. She did better with him by her side. “I’ll be fine,” she said, with sadness. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” she said, but she bowed her head, entering the comforting circle of his arms. “Though, I think after this is over, it’s time I retired.” He pulled back to look at her. She made a face, shaking her head. “Keller’s been trying to push me out for some time now. If that stunt with the serum is any indication. And… I’d like to go out on my own terms.”

It was chilly on the balcony so he rubbed her arms for warmth. “All right,” he said, in truth very much relieved, raising her hand to kiss the back of her ring finger.

“Go and get our man, Captain,” she said. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a grin and a half-salute. She stepped to the other side of the balcony as he raised his right hand. There was a far off whistle. “I’ll bring Howard to London,” he said.

She nodded. “I’ll have a plane ready in the morning.”

Out of the darkness Mjolnir swooped in, causing him to step back. He cast off all illusion, then spun Mjolnir, leaping in to the air. 

It was early evening when he landed in Siberia, on the rocky snowy doorstep to the Hydra facility that had been home to the Winter Soldier in a different timeline. What remained of the day sunk quickly into a purple dusk. He wasted no time but swung Mjolnir hard against the door, causing the electronic lock and keypad to spark. It took four swings from Mjolnir before part of the door cracked and went off its hinge. With a grunt he picked up the door piece and threw it at the Hydra soldiers who came pouring out of the facility. With a couple more swings of Mjolnir, he sent the rest scattering. 

An alarm blared. He was instantly flooded with memories of the last time he had ridden the same elevator, expecting to find several newly awakened Hydra assassins only to discover Zemo waiting for them. 

How many times had he muscled his way through facilities like this one? He’d lost count.

He found the security room and quickly spotted Howard on the bank of monitors. Howard was being kept one level down, in one of the cages, tied to a chair. His white hair was like a beacon in the grimy black and white footage. 

A small army of men came after Steve, but having located Howard he no longer had to be careful about causing a blackout. He raised Mjolnir and brought down strike after strike of lightning. The bank of monitors exploded, the men yelled, flying backward. He fought and kicked his way down to the next level, sending lightning bolt after lightning bolt, throwing Mjolnir and taking chunks out of cement walls. Dust hung in the air, sparked by the electric charge, and everything stank of ozone. Bodies lay scorched.

When he reached Howard, he kicked the cage door open and sent it flying to the other side. The emergency light was dim, but he could see Howard’s eyes widen in relief as Steve removed his gag. 

“Hello, Cap,” said Howard, with a dry creaky voice, his lips cracked and bleeding, but he smiled. Then he saw the hammer as Steve set it down so he could finish releasing Howard from the chair. Howard’s smile slipped right off his face. There was a flicker of confusion behind his dark eyes when Steve knelt before him, breaking the restraints that tied Howard to the chair. “You’re not my Rogers are you?” he asked. 

Steve had to smile at the possessive “my Rogers.” He shook his head, gently feeling for Howard’s pulse, then checking his limbs for any breaks. He was running a fever. “No,” he said. 

“Goddamn it,” said Howard, sounding more annoyed than anything else, like this was one thing too many. “You mean to tell me Barnes was right? I thought Hydra hijacked his brain.”

Steve frowned, not liking how close to the truth that actually was. “Right now we have to get you out of here. Do you have a little more fight in you?” 

Howard was bleeding from several cuts to his face, and it looked like someone had taken a swing at him with a pillowcase full of rocks. His torso was riddled with bruises. But he was a tough old codger. “I’ll manage,” he said. 

Hydra agents hadn’t dared enter the chamber, but they’d set up a barricade. He shielded Howard as bullets sprayed, and they took cover behind a large cement pillar. “Stay here,” he said to Howard. 

The shooting continued in bursts, sending more cement chips flying everywhere. Ducking through the worst of it, he dragged one of the unconscious Hydra soldiers closer, removing his coat, hat, and taking his assault rifle, making Howard put the clothing on, then handing him the weapon. “It’s cold out there. And you’re in shock. You’ll have to do the shooting. My hands will be full.”

Howard checked the rifle. “Russian made,” he mumbled, releasing the magazine to look at the rounds before slapping it back in place. 

Under better lighting, Steve could see Howard’s yellowing skin, the look of jaundice that started around his lips and eyes. It was a sure sign that something was broken inside Howard, something Steve could not see and could do nothing about. Howard looked dehydrated, but Steve didn’t dare give him water. 

“Ready?” he asked, with a sense of urgency.

Howard nodded. Steve placed Howard behind him, ready to swing Mjolnir fast enough to cause a windstorm. But Howard put a hand on his arm. “Cap?” 

“Yes?”

“I wasn’t going to give them the formula. I want you to know that.”

Their eyes met. “I know,” he said. He almost said it would have been okay if Howard had given them the serum formula, that maybe it didn’t matter in the long run. He hadn’t stopped Howard from making the formula in the first place. But Steve realized it did matter. It mattered a great deal to Howard, and that’s what was important. It mattered, so Howard could look at his son without shame, even if he never got out of Siberia. “I know,” he repeated, gripping Howard’s shoulder. “Let’s get you to your family.”

Almost an hour later, Steve carried a nearly unconscious Howard into the Emergency Department at the Royal London Hospital. When they took Howard from his arms, he stepped back to make his escape during the ensuing confusion. In disguise, he found a public phone and called Peggy. Ten minutes later, the hospital was flooded with SHIELD, CIA, and MI5 agents. From there, it was easy for Steve to resume his role as Joseph Grant, claiming Director Carter had sent him ahead of the family. 

Howard had several broken ribs and a fractured pelvis. He must have been in serious pain during the entire flight from Siberia. He was bleeding internally and on the verge of developing sepsis. There was no time to wait, and the nurses and doctors began prepping him for surgery. Steve stayed nearby the entire time. The surgery took several hours, long enough for Peggy, Maria, and Tony to arrive from New York. They brought Gabe, Morita and Obadiah Stane with them. Steve was relieved to see Peggy and his friends, but not at all happy to see Obadiah Stane.

In Howard’s recovery room, Tony stared down at his father with the stunned, pole-axed expression only the very young had when they were suddenly confronted with the mortality of a parent. Howard looked diminished, lying pale and helpless against the hospital sheets. 

“Is he going to die?” asked Tony without looking up from his father. Maria sat down on a chair, taking Howard’s hand in hers. Peggy stood at the foot of the bed. No one had an answer for him.

Howard’s condition was serious. The surgery had been difficult and the infection from the internal bleeding wasn’t responding quickly enough to antibiotics, but more worrisome were the indications of pneumonia in his lungs. “I don’t want to give false hope,” said the doctor. “He could improve. But right now, I think we’re looking at a matter of days.”

A few hours later, Howard woke up from the surgery confused and disorientated until he saw Maria and Tony. Then, he tried covering his face with a shaking hand as he began to cry. 

“Dad?” asked Tony, truly terrified. Steve didn’t think Tony had ever seen Howard show emotion of any kind besides anger and irritation.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again, son,” said Howard, dropping his hand but taking Tony’s. Tony struggled not to break down in front of his father, but he leaned in to hide his face against Howard’s chest. On the other side, Maria sat with her head bowed, grasping Howard’s arm. “Come on,” said Howard, with a hint of his old self. “It’s okay now. We’re here together.” 

Outside the recovery room, they could hear Obadiah making a bigger fuss about not being let in. He was trying to yell over the charge nurse. Then Fury got into it as well, stating SHIELD needed to speak with Howard about the incident. 

Peggy sighed as she walked over to the door to peek through the small window. Steve grimaced. “I can try to get rid of them,” said Steve. 

Howard shook his head, looked gray with exhaustion and well beyond his seventy-five years. “I suppose I should speak with Stane. What does Fury want?”

“I expect to find out how you ended up in a London hospital,” said Peggy, dryly. 

Howard frowned, but he didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Steve wondered what he would report. Would he say it was Captain America? Would he mention the hammer? But Howard turned instead to his son. “What should I do?” he asked Tony. 

Tony’s jaw fell open in surprise at being asked, either that Howard would ask him in particular, or that Howard didn’t know what to do next, or both. But then he tilted his head, wiping at his eyes. “We should go home,” he said. “Home to New York.”

Tony took charge and handled the arrangements. He spoke with both Stane and Fury and said they’d have to wait until Howard was feeling better. As soon as Howard became more stable, they took a private plane back to New York. 

At first, Howard’s health improved but less than a month after returning from London, he took a sudden turn for the worse. In those last few days, there was a parade of visitors. Rogers and Bucky came and sat with him for a long time, along with the remaining Howling Commandoes, Gabe and Morita. Obadiah was a constant presence, demanding to meet with Howard in private. 

By the end, Howard wanted only Maria, Tony, and Peggy by his side. He went quietly. 

On the day of the funeral, Steve came downstairs from the second floor of his and Peggy’s Brooklyn home, ready to head to the service. He found her sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the back door to their small, enclosed garden. It was a sunny day, and several birds were chattering merrily among the flowers he’d planted when they’d first moved in. She was dressed in black, hands folded on her lap, her hair perfectly styled, more gray than brown, but lovely even in the somber attire. 

“Peggy?” he called. 

She turned at the sound of his voice but did not recognize him. His heart dropped to beneath his feet. She didn’t yell or scream or cry out in fear, but merely stared at him with utter confusion. The past several months had been so stressful, and so physically exhausting, requiring Peggy to be one hundred percent present at all times. It must have taken its toll. 

He said her name again, taking a step closer. She continued to watch him, not afraid, but without recognition. Then, she blinked, and she smiled, and took his hand. “Hello,” she said. 

“Hi,” he answered, raising her hand to his lips. 

Just as Tony’s birth had marked a change, Howard’s death also divided his stay in this timeline. Carefully, he coaxed her up to standing and then wrapped her in his arms. They would be late for the funeral. He put on an old 1940s song on the sound system, and carefully danced with her, around the kitchen and into the living room.


	6. The Tower

Twenty-four years later, Steve made his way down a noisy, bustling Park Avenue in Manhattan, until he stood outside Avengers Tower. It cast a long shadow, and the street turned into a wind tunnel, making it chilly even in late May. 

Security scanned him up and down, and wouldn’t let him pass until they thoroughly inspected the package he carried. He looked like an old man, perfectly harmless, but the Tower security had a job to do. 

“It’s a gift for Mr. Stark,” said Steve to the security guards as they inspected the box he’d brought for Tony. They scanned it, x-rayed it, swabbed it for explosive chemical residue. To set them at ease, Steve opened the box. Inside was an old battered watch. “It’s just a trinket,” he said, amicably. “Mr. Stark is expecting me.”

Behind the security desk, several television monitors displayed footage from the events in Sokovia a week before, edited with images of Ultron and Iron Man followed by more footage of the three Captains America and the other Avengers. It ended with a segment on Vision.

Steve hadn’t been able to stop the creation of Ultron, just as he hadn’t been able to prevent Tony’s kidnapping nor stop Loki from bringing the Chitauri and attacking New York. In this timeline, as in the other, Captain America fought to stop Project Insight from killing millions. He couldn’t stop these things from happening, not without causing something worse in its place.

But there were changes, some big, some small. It hadn’t been one Captain America fighting SHIELD—it had been all three: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson, working together to save lives. 

In this timeline he had Nomad. When Loki dropped the Chitauri on top of New York City, Nomad teams were in place, ready to evacuate as many as they could. In Sokovia, as soon as Ultron made his move, several Nomad teams quietly entered the city and began evacuating the surrounding areas. They got Charles Spenser out, and removed Helmut Zemo’s family from the fallout zone. 

Would saving Zemo’s family change his actions? Or would he still harbor such resentment toward the Avengers that he would seek to destroy them in this timeline as he had in the other? Steve didn’t know. In any case, Zemo would not be able to use the death of his family as an excuse. 

Happy Hogan appeared in the lobby, demanding to see everyone’s badges. Then he stood before Steve and questioned him. What was his business with Mr. Stark? How can he prove he was who he said he was? Why didn’t he have his badge? 

“You say you’re a family friend? Okay then, prove it. What’s Mr. Stark’s favorite color? What was the name of his dog growing up?”

Steve was about to answer that Tony’s favorite color was hot rod red and he never had a dog but had several dog-like robots, when Hogan’s handheld tablet chirped and Tony’s face appeared on the screen. 

“Hogan? What are you doing?” asked Tony.

“My job, sir,” answered Hogan.

“I think you can let the old man up. He used to change my diapers. Chances are he’s not a terrorist or a spy.”

“You can never be too sure, sir. He could be an imposter. Or be in disguise,” Hogan added, narrowing his eyes at Steve.

“Hap. You’re killing me. Just send him up, please,” said Tony. Then his image disappeared. 

Considering Steve was actually in disguise, the exchange was both amusing and surreal at the same time. Happy muttered under his breath, waiting for security to print Steve a badge before escorting him to the elevator. “What with all the crazies running around these days? It’s bad enough with Thor waving that hammer constantly, now we got this new purple guy. And JARVIS is gone,” said Happy, with a real note of regret. 

“I’m sure Mr. Stark appreciates your diligence,” said Steve, as comfortingly as he could. 

They entered the elevator and the doors closed. Several silent moments passed with the floors whizzing by before Happy turned to Steve again. “Did you really change his diapers?” 

Steve grinned, cradling the box like he used to cradle Tony as a baby. “Once or twice.”

Happy frowned at this, like he’d never considered Tony as an infant before, small and helpless, needing regular feeding and diaper changes. 

After Howard died, Tony inherited Stark Industries, and Steve didn’t see him very often anymore. Tony entered his wild phase, and Steve had his hands full taking care of Peggy, though he had made it a point to attend Tony’s graduation from MIT, where he met a young-yet-still-tragically-more-mature-than-anyone-else James Rhodes. They talked on the phone a couple times a year, and occasionally Tony would land on his doorstep for a whirlwind visit only to disappear again right after. Steve heard from Bucky that he and Rogers didn’t see much of Tony during that time either. It wasn’t anyone’s fault exactly. Tony didn’t understand the cause of the rift between Howard and Rogers, and the fact that no one told him the entire story made him resentful. Rogers didn’t want to cause Tony more grief or make things more difficult for him, so he decided to give him space. 

Years went by with only minimal contact between Tony and Rogers until Loki made his grand entrance, and they were suddenly thrown together again, fighting to save New York City and the world. It was their reunion that brought on the era of the Avengers. Since then, Steve was informed that the friendship between Rogers and Tony was as prickly and as complex as it had been between him and Tony in the other timeline. But, to Steve, that told him they cared deeply for each other, so he took it as a good sign. 

Happy lead him to the public common area on the main Avengers level, still covered in broken furniture and shattered glass. “Do you want, um, like a coffee or something? Can I bring you anything?” asked Happy, with a desultory-like tone. Clearly, the last thing on Earth he would like to do is bring Steve a coffee. 

Steve shook his head, preoccupied with looking around, trying to note any differences between this Tower and the one he’d known so well so long ago. “No thanks. I don’t need anything.”

“Okay, well, Mr. Stark will call for you when he’s ready. That might be in ten minutes or an hour.” He paused, then seemed to feel bad about his attitude. “You know, it’s unusual for Tony to change his plans to see someone who calls him out of the blue. Who are you exactly?”

“Just an old friend.”

“Right,” said Happy, not buying it. “One I’ve never heard of before. Don’t wander anywhere or you might get vaporized.”

He left, leaving Steve relatively alone. The late morning sun shone through the partially intact window, making the waiting area warmer than the rest of the floor. This Tower, just like the other Tower, had open floors, and he could watch the busy repair work happening above and below him. He could even see Tony’s workshop two floors up, where Tony didn’t seem in any hurry to stop what he was doing and come get him. 

There were key differences between the Towers though. He spotted Wanda Maximoff and her brother Pietro, and then saw the Barton kids playing tag—unlike before, this time Pietro lived. Unlike before, Barton’s wife Laura was a member of the team, though they still had the two kids, and her belly was round with the third child. The kids ran around, yelling up a storm. 

He felt the barest movement of air behind him, so slight he almost thought he imagined it. It was like a sigh, or the whisper of a memory, or the softest slide of a ballet slipper across the floor. Ah, the last part she did on purpose, to test him. He had waited for this moment for decades, both desperately wanting it and fearful of it at the same time. Slowly, he turned. She stood a couple of feet away, like she’d walked out of time and space to stand before him, tilting her head to look at him with frank curiosity. 

“Natasha,” he said, her name falling out of his mouth without a thought. He was captivated by every detail she presented. She was exactly Natasha in every way, from her red hair pulled back in a half ponytail, to her exercise clothing and ballet slippers. She wore a light grey hoodie he remembered, one he had seen her in countless times. 

She creased her brow. “You know me?” she asked.

“I…do. Know you,” he said, wading into dangerous territory. “Who doesn’t know Black Widow?” He thought it was a decent recovery.

“You didn’t say Black Widow. You said my name. You said it like you know me. That’s odd. Since I don’t know you,” she added. “You’ve got Happy all worked up. Which, granted, doesn’t take much, but he’s going on and on about some old geezer—his word—who’s probably a Russian spy. I thought I should check you out.”

Steve chuckled. “Not a Russian spy.”

“No,” she said, with a small smile. “I can tell that much. But you are…” she stepped closer, into the circle of light from the window. The sunlight set her hair aflame, and her green eyes held on to him as firmly as if she had grabbed his hand. She gasped. “You’re Nomad.”

His jaw fell open. “How did you put that together?”

“You’re responsible for closing the Red Room,” she said, not bothering to answer his question. 

He swallowed past a lump in his throat. It had been one of those unforeseen consequences, how in this timeline, in retaliation for the changes Kennedy and Khrushchev made in the 60s, the Red Room rose in stature as a clandestine KGB operation. It had consumed droves of children into its program. Steve spent much of the 70s and 80s working to get them out, to deprogram them. He could never get all of them, and he hadn’t managed to shut down the Red Room until after Natasha had already been plucked into the program. His guilt over failing her was outweighed by his relief that she wasn’t lost to him. He had feared, if he had closed the Red Room to early, it might have meant Natasha would never exist. And he couldn’t live with that. “I…” he briefly thought about denying it, but then took a deep breath instead. “Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t do it before they got you.”

Something flickered deep in her eyes. Then, she took his hand. It felt like every time they had ever held hands. “I’ve wanted to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” he said, grateful that he could claim old age for making his voice weak. “Will you sit with me a moment? And tell me…tell me anything you want to. Not sure how long Tony will keep me waiting.”

“Only if you answer every one of my questions,” she said with a sly smile.

“It’s a deal.” He didn’t care if she asked him a million questions he could never answer. He just wanted to spend time with her, to look at her for as long as he could. 

Fifteen or twenty minutes passed with just the two of them sitting side-bye side. Natasha sat like she always did: with her legs folded underneath her, and then crossed in front, then perched on the coffee table. She asked mainly mission specific questions, wanting to know how Nomad operated for so long within the USSR, wanting to know what remained of the program, and if certain Red Room operatives she’d known still lived. 

He shook his head, trying to read her cues. “I still have connections in Russia. I can help you look into it, if you want.”

“Thanks,” she said but without commitment, brows furrowed as she peered down one level lower where Barton’s kids had gotten in trouble with their mother for some infraction. There were several high-pitched cries of protest. “There was,” and Natasha shut her eyes as she spoke, something he knew she did when her emotions were stirred. “…a thing that happened, during our hunt for Ultron. Wanda Maximoff has these powers. She can make you see things, visions. It sort of sent me back to the Red Room.” She shook her head. “I thought I was free of that place.”

“Maybe none of us can escape our past entirely,” he said. “But you are free of the Red Room. A couple of bad dreams doesn’t change that fact.”

She looked at him steadily and he felt that at any moment she would begin to see past the illusion. Lila Barton shrieked, her voice echoing through the Tower. “Aunty Nat,” she yelled, her hands cupped around her mouth as her father caught her. “Help me!”

But Barton hauled his daughter over his shoulder, waving up at Natasha to let her know he had it well in hand. The brief sight of Barton with his family gave Steve a shot of pure joy straight into his heart. 

Natasha gazed down at Lila arguing with her dad, her expression soft with fondness. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “I mean, I’ve got this,” she waved her hand, indicating the Tower and everyone in it. “It’s messy but…real.”

She didn’t say the word, but he heard it anyway: family. The Avengers were her family. He wished he could keep her family intact for her. He wished the future could be different. 

From his wallet, he took out a Nomad business card and handed it to her. She looked at it closely. “I’m just an old man these days,” he said. “But Nomad is still there. You keep that card.” He smiled at her, taking a chance and gently brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. “Nothing lasts forever, Natasha. Not even regret.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Now you sound just like I do. That’s what I keep saying,” she said. 

He smiled. “Maybe we should listen.”

The elevator dinged. They turned to see who arrived, Steve expecting it to be Tony, but instead both Rogers and Sam Wilson stepped onto the floor, dressed in their respective Captain America uniforms, each carrying their own shield. They walked in sync. Steve tended to forget what that uniform inspired in people. It even gave him a thrill just watching the two of them walk toward them. More than that, it was a real jolt to see Sam Wilson in the Captain America uniform, as he was always meant to be. This was the kind of consequence to meddling with time that Steve preferred. 

“Well, look who’s here,” said Sam Wilson with a broad grin when he spotted Steve sitting with Natasha. “If it isn’t my old friend.”

“Hi Sam,” said Steve, letting Sam take his hand in a warm grasp, basking in his smile.

“Is Peggy all right?” asked Rogers, not bothering to say hello. “Is everything okay?” 

“She’s fine,” said Steve, raising a calming hand. “Sharon’s sitting with her for the day. I’m here to see Tony.”

Rogers visibly relaxed. “Right. Of course.” Then, his brows crashed together and Steve could tell exactly what Rogers was thinking. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited lately.”

“You’ve been busy,” said Steve. “But she’d love to see you, you know that. She perks up whenever you visit.”

He said it to be kind and hopefully to ease Rogers’s conscience, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Rogers looked down at his feet. 

In the awkward moment that followed, Sam turned to Natasha. “Did you know that this man,” Sam pointed at Steve. “Appeared at my first group session when I started at the VA. Sat there in the back, hardly said a word. Kept coming back, too. He was there at every meeting, every week. Eventually I got curious. Who was he? Started talking to him. He told me the wildest stories, you have no idea.”

“Oh I think I can guess,” said Natasha, with her customary smirk. 

“Told him he was my new best friend,” said Sam.

“Hey,” protested Rogers, hands on his belt.

“Don’t be jealous,” said Sam to Rogers, but he was clearly only kidding. “If it weren’t for him, I’d never have met you. Any of you guys.” He turned back to Natasha. “Now that’s a true story.” 

Natasha laughed, which Steve could see had been Sam’s goal all along. 

Rogers shook his head but indulgently squeezed Sam’s shoulder. He then gave Natasha a quick check-in look. She wrinkled her nose and returned the same check-in look right back. Steve watched this silent exchange between the three of them, and something deep in his chest unwound, thinking of the pictures he kept on the dashboard of the Tahoe. 

Before another awkward moment could start, there was a whooshing sound—a sound Steve would know in his sleep, that set his heart racing. Out of nowhere, Thor flew in from one of the shattered windows, red cape flying behind him, to land with a thud right in the middle of their small group, a different Mjolnir in his hand. 

Uh oh, thought Steve, this might get interesting.

Sam gave a start in surprise, then said to Natasha, “We need an ‘Incoming Thor’ warning.” 

She grinned, too used to Thor’s sudden comings and goings to react to him dropping into the middle of their conversation. “What would be the fun in that?”

Thor was tall, godly, and gleamed in the sunlight. Steve had forgotten just how impressive Thor was at this stage. He had planned on meeting Thor—it was unavoidable and necessary—but just not in the presence of Rogers and Sam and Natasha. 

“Thor. What’s the word?” asked Rogers, becoming all business.

“Captain,” answered Thor. “Barnes sends his regards. He said to tell you he’s staying in the relief camps for the next several days. Vision is with him. Search and rescue continues, and there is much work to do reuniting families.” 

“All right, thanks,” said Rogers, and then he and Thor gripped each other’s forearms and shoulders in a very manly, muscley sort of way. Natasha caught Steve’s attention and rolled her eyes. He chuckled. 

Thor turned to greet Sam and Natasha, spinning Mjolnir in his hand. He stopped when he noticed Steve. “Hello,” he said. “I don’t know you. Do I?”

“Uh,” stammered Steve, his throat dry.

Rogers stepped in to answer for him. “This is Joseph Grant. He’s….” He seemed at a loss on how to describe who Steve was. 

“An old family friend,” said Steve, standing to be polite. 

“Oh right,” said Thor, with a nod. But he stepped closer, keenly observing Steve in that Asgardian way that set off all kinds of warning bells. “Were you at the party? You seem very familiar.”

Just then the elevator dinged a second time. Saved by the bell. One of Tony’s robots—Steve thought it was Dum-E—rolled out of the elevator, making its mechanical way over to them. It stopped in front of Steve, then chirped and beeped.

“I think that’s my cue,” he said, taking his box from the coffee table. He turned to say goodbye to Natasha but found that he couldn’t do it. “I’m in Brooklyn, if you ever want to visit,” he said, instead. She gave him that same curious, head tilt.

Before he could say anything else and get into further trouble, he followed Dum-E to the elevator, feeling everyone’s eyes on his back, watching him leave.

As the elevator doors closed, he turned to Dum-E. “That wasn’t so bad,” he said. 

Dum-E’s head—or was it his arm?—turned to him and whirred in hesitant agreement. 

The elevator doors opened onto Tony’s workshop. Music played at a moderate volume while Tony sat on a stool by the center worktable, wearing goggles and bending over a piece of one of his suits, smoke rising from a soldering tool. 

Steve knew the secret here was to let Tony come to him. U rolled over with a tray, ready to offer him refreshments. He took a glass of one of Tony’s smoothies and thanked the robot, who chirped in answer. Steve glanced around the workshop. Part of it had been damaged during the initial Ultron confrontation. Dum-E began sweeping the debris into a corner.

Someone entered from a connecting lab, calling for Tony. Bruce stopped when he saw that Tony wasn’t alone. Steve soaked in the sight of him. “Dr. Banner,” he said. 

Bruce came forward, offering his hand. Tony didn’t look up from his work. “Oh right,” said Bruce. “Tony said you were coming by.”

Here was another change. Bruce hadn’t taken off in the quinjet, vanishing from Earth. They shook hands, and Steve tried not to act like he wanted to hold on for an uncomfortably long moment. “If he has time for me,” said Steve, with a smile.

Bruce gave him a commiserating look, going over to knock knock on Tony’s head. 

“This is a delicate process, Bruce,” said Tony, without looking up from his work.

“Hill said to tell you Prince T’Challa and the Wakandan Ambassador have reached out twice just this morning,” said Bruce, backing off when Tony pointed the soldering iron at him. “And you can’t put them off much longer. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

With a sigh, Tony lifted his goggles. In this timeline, Wakanda had emerged from the shadows late in the previous century, partly due to Rogers being a force in the world. Captain America had encountered Black Panther one too many times over the years. 

“Why are you doing Hill’s dirty work?” Tony asked Bruce.

“Because you’re not answering her calls.”

“Oh right.”

“And, your guest is waiting,” answered Bruce, indicating Steve and purposely swiveling Tony’s stool in Steve’s direction. “Stop being rude.”

“Hey. You’re here,” Tony said to Steve as if completely surprised by his presence. 

“Hi, Tony,” answered Steve. “How are you?”

The three of them looked awkwardly at each other until Bruce made a little hand gesture of goodbye, pointing at his own lab. “I’ll just leave the two of you alone,” he said. He and Tony gave each other a look before he left.

Steve suddenly realized that Tony and Natasha seemed to have swapped places when it came to Bruce Banner. He hid his surprise.

“Sorry about the mess,” said Tony. His lips twitched in an almost smile, but Steve could see he was still dealing with the emotional fall out of what happened with Ultron. “This place was something before a megalomaniacal robot stomped all over it. Uh, don’t get me wrong, it’s good to see you. But,” Tony tugged on his ear, looking around at his workshop and then at the Tower in general. “May not be the best time for a visit.”

Steve knew Tony was pretending that he was okay. He set the box down on the workshop table so he could grip Tony by both shoulders. He could still see the little boy he used to give piggyback rides to. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But this is the best time I could come up with. It needed to be now.”

“What needed to be now?” asked Tony with questioning eyebrows.

“I almost came to you right after New York, after Loki. But it wasn’t the proper time yet. You get kind of good at reading these things after a while. And if I wait another few years… well. Things get complicated from here on out.”

“Um, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“I have something I have to tell you.”

“Okay.”

Steve paused, and pulled up a stool. From the box he removed the old battered watch and set it down on the table. 

Tony’s curiosity won and he sat down across from Steve on the other side of the worktable. 

“Before I show you what this is,” Steve pointed to the watch, “Can you shade the windows? Make it so no one can see in here, and we can’t be disturbed? Not even from Bruce. I don’t mind FRIDAY listening in, but no audio or visual recording. You’ll understand why in a second.”

Tony frowned, both amused and intrigued. With his eyes on Steve, he gave orders to FRIDAY to activate the lab’s privacy settings. The windows darkened and the music ceased. They could still see out to the other floors but no one could see in. “Wait? How do you even know about FRIDAY?” 

He remembered when Tony was five and had scraped his knee and Steve had put a band-aid over it. Whoever said it was best to rip a band-aid off fast had never had to rip a band-aid off Tony Stark. 

Steve studied him, taking in as many details of this moment as he could. Once he told Tony, he could never take it back. But of course it was too late already—all paths led to Thanos. Closing his eyes briefly, Steve released the illusion. 

There was a crash and a thunk. Tony had fallen off his stool, causing both he and the stool to tumble to the floor. Dum-E made a chirp of distress, wheeling over quickly, holding a fire extinguisher. “No,” yelled Tony, pointing at Dum-E from the floor. “I am not on fire. Go back to sweeping.”

Steve stood up and peered over the side of the worktable. “You okay down there?” he asked. 

Tony popped back up to standing. They stared at each other while Tony walked around the table so they stood with nothing between them, in more ways than one. Steve felt like he should reintroduce himself, like this was their first meeting though he had known Tony since the day he was born. 

Dum-E, who hadn’t moved despite Tony’s order, made another noise while pointing the fire extinguisher at Tony, then at Steve, then at Tony again. 

“For once, Happy was right. You are an imposter,” said Tony, walking to the edge of the lab to peer down through the glass to where the other Steve Rogers sat with Sam and Natasha and Thor. “FRIDAY, run a comparison scan of both Steve Rogers. God, I can’t believe there’s two of you,” said Tony. “Can you tell me which is the real Steve? Hey, smartypants,” Tony tapped Dum-E on its head, “Keep that thing aimed at him, not at me.”

“Running scans now,” answered FRIDAY. Dum-E stopped switching between them and locked onto Steve. 

Steve looked at the ceiling, holding still for the scan, trying not to smile at Dum-E. “We’re both Steve Rogers,” he said to Tony.

“Nuh uh,” said Tony, making a zipping gesture across his mouth. “Which is it? Life model decoy? But to be honest, that seems like overkill on the heels of Ultron. Shapeshifting alien? Yeah, I know about those. Don’t tell Fury.”

“FRIDAY wouldn’t be able to detect a Skrull,” said Steve, calmly. Steve had met a few of Carol’s friends during the years after the Snap. He’d learned all about the incident in 1995 and had stayed well out of it when it occurred again in this timeline, not wanting to disrupt the course of the Tesseract. It didn’t surprise him that this Tony knew all about it. 

“ _Are_ you an alien?” asked Tony. 

Before Steve could answer, FRIDAY interrupted. “Scan complete. Except for incidental differences in mass, the two men identified as Steve Rogers appear to be identical.”

Huh, thought Steve, wondering whether he or his counterpart had the greater mass. 

Tony sighed, fingers to his forehead, rubbing his face in almost a pleading manner. “How can there be two of you?” 

Of course Tony asked the important question. Not _why_ there were two of him, but _how_ there were two of him. “Because I’m from the future.”

Tony did a quick shake of his head, like he tried to make sure he’d heard correctly. Dum-E looked from Steve to Tony, making a long, low whistle noise. 

“Time travel?” exclaimed Tony, sounding so much like the Howard from the alternate 1970 that Steve almost smiled. Tony spoke slowly, as if explaining to a small child. “Time travel isn’t possible.”

“You’re right,” agreed Steve. He picked up the battered old watch and held it out. A few sparks of magic fell through his fingers, revealing it to be the GPS quantum device. “It wasn’t possible. Until you made it possible. With this.” 

Tony glanced at the device, ready to dismiss it, but then he tilted his head as he picked it up to look more closely, squinting at it with one eye, then switching to the other eye, turning it around to look at it again. He must have recognized his own tech, even when he personally hadn’t made it. Tony gave Steve an unreadable look, bringing the device to a side table and setting it down on a sensor pad, taking a seat in front of it and murmuring to FRIDAY to run another scan. 

“Careful with that,” said Steve. “I don’t have another, and that one has all the coordinates.”

Tony ignored him. With a wary eye on Dum-E and the fire extinguisher, Steve approached closer. Tony accessed several holographic files stored in the device, arranging them in the air.

“This appears to be a Stark product,” said FRIDAY, the Stark Industries logo amplified for a moment. A second later, another holographic file appeared above the device. “There is an encrypted ‘read me’ file, password required.”

“I can probably figure out a way to bypass that,” muttered Tony, mostly to himself. “But….” He entered in one attempt at a password. A red flashing “Access Denied” appeared. He tried another with the same result. Tony turned to Steve. “Any ideas?”

Steve looked between the holographic interface and Tony, and then lowered his head. Damn it. He had a good guess what the password was, but he didn’t want to say it. Yet, he had little choice. “Try ‘Morgan’,” he said, unable to hold Tony’s gaze for long. 

In this timeline, Pepper Potts didn’t exist. Steve didn’t know what happened, what caused the change. Through Nomad, he had done some investigating, but there was little to discover. In one universe, Pepper Potts’s parents had a child, and in the other, they didn’t. 

Tony was too perceptive not to pick up on Steve’s internal struggle, and Steve could see he wanted to ask who Morgan was and why the name was important, but he merely pinched his lips and turned back to the device, entering in the password. The red letters turned green. Password accepted. 

Holographic image after holographic image popped into existence. Tony sifted through the data quickly until he got to the picture of a twisted circle. It took a second for Steve to remember what it was called: a möbius strip. Tony zeroed in on the image, momentarily moving to another file that appeared to be an analysis of Pym particles, before returning to the möbius strip. With an abrupt hand-slap to his forehead, he sat back. “Hah!” he yelled, then beamed at Steve. “I’m a genius.”

Steve grinned. “No doubt about that.”

Tony’s glee turned into a hard scowl. “Who else knows? Does Steve know? When did you come back in time, exactly? Oh shit!” Tony clapped his hand over his mouth, pointing at Steve. “You saved Howard. In Siberia.”

“Right now, no one but you and Bucky know. And Peggy,” he added. Tony blinked, a look of sympathy mixing with his shock and confusion. “And yes,” continued Steve past the lump in his throat. “Howard knew, those last few weeks.” 

“My whole life…? It was you?” asked Tony, with a quiet, bewildered semi-horrified laugh. “I don’t know whether to mourn the man I knew you as or…” He frowned. “My teenage crush used to change my diapers. That’ll be a few therapy sessions. This is surreal. Give me a moment, I’m having an existential crisis and rewriting my entire life history.”

Steve smiled. “Talk to Bucky. The both of you can commiserate.”

Slowly, Tony’s confusion slipped away. He looked back and forth between the image of the twisted circle and Steve, then peered down through the glass walls to the lower floor where the Avengers sat all together. Clint and Laura plus their two kids had joined Rogers and the others just as Bruce wandered over to join them as well. Through the glass, Steve could hear part of their conversation—they were talking about ordering lunch. 

Color drained from Tony’s face as he watched his teammates. Steve could see he was moments away from figuring it out. “Why would I need to invent time travel?” he asked, turning to face Steve. 

Steve swallowed. Here was the point of no return. “Because you were right. Ultron didn’t work out. But…” He pointed to the ceiling, though he was really pointing to the sky above the Tower, to the heavens over New York City. “That up there…” he said, leaving the next part unsaid. 

Tony paled even further. “That’s the endgame,” he said, finishing for Steve. He sat heavily in a chair. “Shit,” he said, eyes bright.

Steve rolled over another chair to sit in front of him, taking hold of Tony’s hands, gently cupping his face. Tony let him do these things without protest. God help him if he had to watch Tony die a second time. 

“In my timeline, Tony Stark invented time travel because we lost.” 

There was a pause while Tony digested this. “Did it work?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said Steve, but his voice cracked. He gripped Tony’s hand tight, unable to stop the tears from forming. 

Tony studied him, those dark eyes reading every minute facial expression. Steve had to fight against the urge to gather Tony into his arms the way he used to when Tony was a little boy. 

“You are different from him,” said Tony. “I can see it now.”

Steve found his voice again. “Tony Stark told me ‘You mess with time, it tends to mess back.’ And I’ve been doing that ever since. And I need your help to do it again.”

The smile returned to Tony’s eyes, crinkling in the corners, spreading across his lips. “Okay, now you sound just like him.” He laid a hand over Steve’s. “All right, Cap. Start at the beginning.”

*

It was long past dinnertime when Steve left Tony’s lab. He didn’t think Tony was going to get any sleep that night, though Steve told him to let it rest for the evening. 

The communal floors were quiet. He needed to get back to Peggy, but he had one last task to do. It was easier than it should have been to slip quietly through the floors. FRIDAY unlocked the door to Thor’s residence for him, and he went silently through the rooms until he reached the balcony. 

Most of the balcony furniture had a distinct unused quality about it. Though chilly, the view of dusk settling over New York City more than made up for it, and the architecture of the building protected him from the worst of the wind. Thor’s quarters faced west. Steve settled in to watch the sunset. He didn’t mind waiting, though he sent a quick text to Sharon to make sure she was okay sitting with Peggy a little longer. 

But it turned out he didn’t have to wait too long. Half the sun still remained visible above the horizon when he heard movement and noise from inside the apartment. A moment later Thor came out to the balcony. 

“The new voice for the building said I had a guest waiting for me,” said Thor. “To what do I owe the honor, friend of the family.” 

Steve grinned when he turned to greet Thor. “I’m sorry. It’s not polite to invite myself in like this without your knowledge.”

“Quite all right,” said Thor, in a deceptively calm voice. “I like having guests, invited or otherwise. Do you care for a refreshment? There’s a refrigerator here. It might have beer.”

It was on the tip of Steve’s tongue to refuse, but he realized he was thirsty after talking most of the afternoon. “You know what? I’d love one.”

“Excellent,” said Thor. He disappeared but returned almost immediately with two bottles of imported German beer, handing one to Steve. Thor settled against the railing, taking a sip. “So, how may I help?” 

Steve shook his head. “Figured it was better if we spoke in private, with no one listening in.”

“Ah. Secrets. I love secrets.” Thor narrowed his eyes at Steve as he took another swallow. “Are you sure we have never met? I feel like I know you.”

Instead of answering, Steve glanced into the apartment but none of the lights were on. “Do you have your hammer here?” 

“Mjolnir?” asked Thor, surprised. “Yes. Would you like to see it?” 

“Please.”

Mjolnir sailed from the apartment out to the balcony and into Thor’s hand. He set it down on the railing. Of course, it was identical to the Mjolnir Steve had at home in Brooklyn. Steve rested his hand on the metal, imagining that he felt just the slightest vibration of recognition.

When Thor first came to Earth—or more accurately, fell to Earth—making his grand entrance onto the world stage, Steve kept a close watch on his Mjolnir, concerned it would go sailing off into the sky chasing after Thor. In close proximity, like that time in the alternate 2012 when he returned the Scepter, and even before that, during the battle of Earth with Mjolnir and Stormbreaker, if he called one, he might get the other. But, his Mjolnir had stayed by his side through all of Thor’s visits to Earth, maybe because Steve had asked it to. 

Steve traveled his hand up to grip the hammer’s handle. He sensed Thor tense up. “May I?” Steve asked, to be polite.

Thor squared his shoulders, then made himself very tall. “By all means, give it a try,” he said, with a fairly convincing attempt at being nonchalant. 

Even knowing he could lift it, Steve held his breath. This was a different Mjolnir. It didn’t know him. It might choose differently. But he felt the power surge within him as he lifted the hammer, electricity zapping and crackling up his arm, traveling over his body and eating away at the illusion. Thor’s eyes went very big and round, at first with alarm and then with sheer elation. He laughed, exhilarated. “Captain?” he asked, bewildered and confused.

But Steve wasn’t done yet. He held out his other hand. A few seconds later he heard the familiar swooshing sound, incoming from the south. “Well, are you going to catch it? Or do I have to do it?” he asked. 

Thor only had a second to figure it out. At the last moment, Steve lowered his hand and Thor caught the other Mjolnir. He whooped in delight and surprise. 

“What is this?” he asked, looking with wonder at the second hammer and staring hard at Steve, now free of illusion. He looked between both Mjolnirs, then gripped Steve by the shoulder in jolly excitement. “But why the disguise… and how?” Then, with thunderous brows crashing together, he took a step closer to look deeply at Steve, seeing past his physical form. His nostrils flared with recognition. “You’re not the Captain I know at all, are you?”

Steve grinned though he fought back tears, swallowing to make his throat work. He shook his head. “No. I’m from the future.”

“Oh,” said Thor, with a new understanding but easily accepting the statement without question, though he held a bit of wonder as he looked at Steve more closely. “I see now, the years you have traveled to get here.” Then he straightened, becoming very serious and grave, and his voice deepened. “What have you come to warn me about?”

Steve almost laughed with relief. He had rarely felt more grateful to Thor. Their friendship had always been so uncomplicated. He set Mjolnir down on the ledge so he could pull Thor into a hug. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

Thor brought his arms around Steve. “And I’ve missed you. Though that seems odd to say since I just saw you at dinner. A different you. But you are no less missed. I think.” Steve laughed through a few tears. “In any case, you’ve traveled far, my friend, haven’t you?”

Steve took a deep breath. “For a while I did. But I came to this timeline seventy years ago. It’s been a good life.” 

Thor was looking at him in a way that left Steve a little breathless. “What have you come to say?” asked Thor.

Steve nodded, then took back his Mjolnir from Thor, gripping the familiar handle, feeling its vibration run up his arm. “You’ll be leaving Earth soon,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

“I…” Thor breathed in. “Yes. I had a vision. I must see it through.”

“I know,” said Steve. “You saw the Infinity Stones.” Thor frowned but he didn’t deny it. “I can tell you where they are. But, that’s not what I’m here to warn you about. It’s about Asgard. And your people.”

The other Mjolnir snapped into Thor’s hand. “Tell me.”

Steve paused, deciding what to say, but there was no gentle way to go about it. “Ragnorak,” said Steve. Thor froze, and Steve saw perhaps the first real unease in Thor’s eyes. “And after that, Thanos.”


	7. Brooklyn, and then London

Bucky and Steve raced each other around the inner loop in Prospect Park. Steve let Bucky think he could win until he pulled ahead just before the end of the loop. 

“Goddamn you,” said Bucky as they slowed to a stop, tackling Steve onto the grass. Steve laughed when Bucky gave him a disgusted look, rolling onto his back. “You know, my Steve lets me win sometimes.”

Steve grinned, catching his breath. He sat up and threw a handful of grass at Bucky’s face. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m not carrying around a metal arm.”

“Damn straight,” said Bucky, grimacing and spitting out the grass. He tackled Steve again until Steve cried out for mercy.

Whenever Rogers came to visit Peggy, Bucky always arranged to give Steve a break from caring for her full time. They told Rogers he was taking Joseph Grant out to go on a walk, maybe to the movies or for lunch, depending on how much time they had. Then, once they were out of the house, Bucky badgered Steve until he got rid of the illusion. 

“No one’s going to know,” said Bucky the first time he’d convinced Steve to come out while Rogers spent the day with Peggy. “I’m with Steve like 90% of the time. They’ll just think you’re him. Which you are.” Bucky made a face, then shook his head. “Let’s not get all time-travel-criss-cross-existential. Just trust me. All right?”

Steve had agreed, and after that first time, he had to admit it felt great to walk around outside in the real world as himself without illusion, after near seventy years spent in disguise everywhere but in the intimacy of his home. 

They stopped roughhousing and sat in companionable silence, Steve stretching out his legs, tilting his face up to feel the sun. Almost a year after Ultron, the days were beginning to lengthen again as they headed into spring. He was going to miss Brooklyn. Peggy had expressed a wish to see England again and now that the weather wasn’t so cold, he’d made arrangements with her family. Tony had graciously provided a plane to take them overseas; they were leaving tomorrow. So much had changed in this timeline, Steve wasn’t certain of the sequence of events anymore but he was certain he wouldn’t be coming back. The end was near and Steve didn’t want to think about it.

In contrast to how Bucky used to keep his arm hidden in those early years, now he didn’t bother to cover it up, wearing a sleeveless tank top, the metal gleaming in the sunlight. But it meant he was instantly recognizable. They both were. A crowd began to gather nearby, noticing Bucky and Steve. Strangers took out their phones, whispering to each other. Steve tensed, but Bucky, lying back with his arm over his eyes, spoke without looking at him. “Relax.”

“Those pictures are going to end up online.” He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up this charade much longer, especially in the twenty-first century. With recording devices everywhere and the Internet there to easily spread information, it was a wonder he hadn’t been discovered yet. 

“And what are they going to say? That there are two Steve Rogers? Hate to break it to you, pal, but people have been saying that since 1966. And I was saying it before then. There’s a website devoted to it and a trending hashtag. There’s even a pornographic film with two Steves—”

“Bucky! I didn’t need to know that.”

Bucky laughed. “Well there _is_. You should have seen Steve’s face when I showed it to him. But in any case, he certainly doesn’t look at pictures of himself on the Internet. If someone waves them in his face, he assumes they’ve been doctored or it’s done with masks and makeup. Trust me. People have been trying to solve the mystery of the two Steves for years.” 

Steve sighed. “Okay, okay. Give me a break, all right. It’s been decades I haven’t had to deal with the public, I forget what it’s like, people taking pictures all the time. I don’t miss this part of it at all.”

They continued to sit in silence for a few minutes more before Steve got restless with the onlookers and wiped his hands free of the dirt and grass. He pulled Bucky up to standing and they resumed running, this time at a much more sedate pace. 

“Can I ask you a question?” asked Steve, still thinking about Rogers and what would happen when he found out. 

“Hm,” answered Bucky. 

“Is it weird for you? Being in a relationship with him while being friends with me?” If he was being honest with himself, it was very weird for him to think too much about Rogers and Bucky being together, though at the same time he was happy for them. 

Bucky made a series of funny faces. “I still think of you both as Thing One and Thing Two.”

“Which one am I? The better looking Thing, naturally.” 

“No answer.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder, giving him a teasing smile. They continued jogging, and Steve could tell Bucky was thinking about his question. “I don’t think I can tell weird from weird anymore,” said Bucky. “I passed weird sometime back in 1943, and it’s all been a crazy ride since then. Things are what they are.”

Fair enough, thought Steve. When you start your career with The Red Skull, weird is all relative. “Wait till you meet the talking raccoon from outer space.”

Bucky stopped. The look on his face was one of horrified incredulity. “Now why’d you go and drop a thing like that?”

Steve grinned, throwing his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, jostling him as they walked side-by-side. “Payback, for mentioning that porn film. Don’t forget Groot, the sentient tree.”

Bucky groaned, covering his face with his hands. They continued at a more meandering walk, enjoying the afternoon as they exited the park and discussing where they wanted to go for a coffee and a bite to eat. They were barely out of the canopy of trees and had not gone more than a block or two down Washington Blvd when they both noticed the woman leaning against a non-descript car. Maria Hill had her arms folded across her chest as she waited.

It was too late to cast an illusion. Steve tensed, ready for any kind of reaction. Beside him, Bucky sighed. “Just play it cool, all right?” he said without looking at Steve as they approached her. Steve let Bucky take the lead. “Agent Hill,” said Bucky. “It’s our day off. What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” said Hill, eyeing both of them. Steve wondered if it was his imagination that she looked at him more curiously. 

“It’s our day off,” repeated Bucky. 

She gave him a slightly sympathetic expression before she opened the passenger door to the car. “We’ve received intel on Rumlow. He and his team of mercenaries were spotted in Morocco. You said no interruptions, except for…”

“Rumlow,” finished Bucky, suddenly pale as he glanced at Steve. 

It wasn’t concern over Rumlow that made Bucky look at Steve like that. It was knowledge of what this signaled. Almost seventy years since Steve had arrived in this timeline, and he’d finally reached the precipice. It was a steep way down from here. Rumlow was the first domino down that set everything off. He’d told Bucky and Tony the same thing. Tony was probably the one who’d sent Hill to warn them. Steve had known the time was approaching fast, but he hadn’t known it would be today. 

“Is Rumlow headed for Nigeria?” asked Steve. 

Hill blinked. “Yes,” she said, a little confused. “We suspect his ultimate target is probably in Lagos, but we’re not certain of the timeframe. How did you know that?”

“Doesn’t matter how,” he said, taking out his phone. He started walking in the direction of his home as he sent texts to the Nomad team standing by in Lagos. 

“Steve, where are you going?” called Hill, but Steve didn’t answer. He heard her ask Bucky, “Where’s he going?”

“He has to go home first. We’ll meet you at the Tower,” said Bucky, starting to jog after Steve, speaking over Hill’s protests. “Give us an hour. Go.”

Hill had no choice but to do as Bucky ordered, getting into her car and driving back to Manhattan. After a beat, Bucky caught up with him. They walked in silence but at the corner as they waited for a light to change, Bucky turned to him. “Is this it?” he asked. 

“It’s the start,” answered Steve. 

A few blocks from his home in Cobble Hill where he had lived with Peggy since 1970, he gently tugged on Bucky’s arm, pulling him into an alley. Steve was pretty sure they’d hidden in this same alley as kids. That had also been a different lifetime. How many lifetimes had it been now?

In a moment, he was going to have cast an illusion again and disguise his face but he wanted to look like himself when he said this next part. He led Bucky to the end of the alley, away from security cameras and prying eyes. A tree was growing on the other side of the wall, dusting the area with leaves. 

“What is it?” asked Bucky. 

It was difficult to speak. “This isn’t going to be easy,” he said. 

“I know. None of it is,” said Bucky. 

Steve shook his head. “I’m not talking about Rumlow. Or what’s going to happen in Lagos. Or anything to do with the Avengers. I’m talking about…” But he couldn’t even say it. If he’d thought it would be easier going through this a second time he had been vastly mistaken. Some part of him had hoped things in this timeline would be different, that they would all be together when it happened. “This trip to England will be her last. I know you both were planning to be there when she goes. It’s not going to happen.”

Bucky opened his mouth but no words came out as he realized what Steve meant.

Each of the other Howling Commandos had passed already. When Gabe died, Bucky had taken the loss quite hard—they had been especially close through the years, Gabe being there for Bucky through every trip to Greenland, and then remaining part of the team until the day he died. Morita had been the most recent to go, passing away the previous year. There was just Peggy left.

“You won’t see her again, after today,” he said, his throat hurt but he had to continue, to make sure Bucky understood, no matter that it cost him to say it. “He’s going to need you, to get through it. And you’re going to need him.”

Bucky’s breathing became noisy, his nostrils flaring as he nodded. He and Peggy were always close, and their friendship had their own language that neither Steve nor Rogers were invited to share. “And what about you?” Bucky asked, a deep crease between his eyes, not missing anything when he looked at Steve.

He wanted to say he would be okay but it wouldn’t be truthful. “I’ll be with her,” he said, even though his vision blurred and he looked down at his feet.

A car drove past the alley and the breeze picked up a few more of the leaves, falling around their shoulders. Bucky didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say. When they stepped out of the alley, Steve looked like Joseph Grant again—quite old, moving in that careful way that old men do, every measured step, every careful breath. 

When they got to his house, Steve heard voices coming from Peggy’s room on the ground floor. He expected to find Rogers sitting by her bed, but instead her bed was empty. Peggy had relocated to her chair by the window, overlooking their small garden. On the footstool pulled close to Peggy’s side, sat Natasha, cross-legged, with her red hair styled long and in soft waves. 

On the side table were flat boxes that Peggy usually kept in their closet. With their heads bowed together, Natasha and Peggy were carefully examining several delicate shawls they’d laid out across Peggy’s lap over the blanket covering her legs. Rogers was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll find him,” said Bucky, quietly so only Steve heard. 

Completely entranced with what he was seeing, Steve nodded without answering, leaned against the doorjamb, not wanting to disturb the scene and mesmerized by every detail. Sunlight beamed in from the window, falling gently across Peggy’s shoulders. Natasha was leaning close to spread out the shawls.

Peggy was showing Natasha the alterations she’d made to the shawls. “My grandmother made this one,” said Peggy, holding up the delicate embroidery, the fringe pooling in her lap. “But I added the bias ribbon here. It can hold garroting wire or picks or a long needle. Very useful. Saved my life more than once.”

“Can I see that a little closer?” asked Natasha, examining the shawl. Considering they were discussing ways to kill an opponent or lock picking their way into a room, it shouldn’t have raised such feelings of love within him: two female spies, generations apart, sharing secrets. 

“You know, I met one of your sisters,” said Peggy, her hand passing over the shawl again and again. “Long ago. She tried to kill me a few times. I never knew her real name. She was…formidable. And I think quite insane.”

Natasha sighed. “I’m surprised we were not all made insane.”

Peggy patted Natasha’s hand, then moved to show her another shawl that had a hidden pocket to hold a switchblade.

This had been a good day for Peggy. After twenty-five years of living with this disease, Steve knew intimately every one of her moods—when she was tired, when she needed quiet, when she got confused, or afraid, or angry. But today, she was at peace and fully present, and very much enjoying Natasha’s visit. 

These were the two most important women of his life, besides his mother. He hadn’t thought they would ever meet. Another consequence, but hopefully a good one. He had to gather these happy moments and hold them close, to stave off the sorrow when inevitably later on that evening Peggy would forget everything that happened that day as if it had never happened at all.

As he watched Natasha and Peggy, he heard Bucky and Rogers from somewhere else in the house. They both emerged from the basement, Rogers holding a laundry basket and heading into the kitchen. No matter how many times Steve told him he didn’t have to do chores when he visited, he still did them. Steve could tell from their body language that Bucky had informed him of the news about Rumlow. 

Steve turned back to Natasha and Peggy but found both women looking at him expectantly.

“Hello, darling,” said Peggy, with a hint of mischief. “How long are you going to hover by the door?” 

He smiled, taking note of Natasha trying to hide her amusement. “As long as you let me,” he answered. 

She grinned, but then her smile faded as she truly looked at him. Whatever she saw made her sigh. She turned to Natasha. “Do you mind giving us a moment? Something has upset my husband.”

“Of course,” said Natasha, rising from the footstool. 

“Thank you for visiting,” he said to Natasha before she left the room. She gave him the same curious head tilt she’d given him before. He pointed to Rogers and Bucky. “Maria Hill found us on our walk. There’s some news apparently. The two Captains are discussing it in the kitchen.”

With a nod of understanding, Natasha went down the hall, leaving Steve alone with Peggy. She reached for his hand, her smile welcoming. 

“She’s the young woman in the picture, isn’t she?” said Peggy, looking keenly at him.

This quiet observation blindsided him. “Yes,” he managed.

“I’m glad I got to meet her.”

He kissed her fingers. Her skin was like tissue paper, soft and thinly delicate.

“Oh, darling,” said Peggy, cupping his face. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath and made himself give her a genuine smile. “They’ll be leaving on a mission today,” he said, smoothing down strands of her hair. “This is your chance to say goodbye.”

Her eyes darted back and forth between his. He couldn’t say it more bluntly. It was too painful to say she would never see Rogers or Bucky again, but she got his meaning: a slight hitch in her breathing, her eyes brightening with moisture. “All right,” she said, with her usual bravery. 

Bucky went first, to say goodbye privately behind closed doors. Steve waited with Rogers and Natasha in the kitchen, but Natasha took one look at both their faces and said she would call the car so they’d be ready to go, leaving them alone. 

He was getting a strange read from Rogers, who kept his arms folded across his chest, staring at Steve almost to the point that it became uncomfortable. Like he was trying to decide between being angry or simply annoyed. Was it because his day with Peggy had gotten interrupted? Because of the intel on Rumlow? Or, something else?

For the first time in many years Steve felt as if Rogers recognized him—that Rogers either saw past the illusion or maybe recognized that Steve looked like their father—old now, with white hair and wrinkles. It made the hair on Steve’s arm stand up, and his heart beat faster, remembering his and Bucky’s earlier conversation. 

The laundry basket Rogers had brought up from the basement sat on the kitchen counter—it was mostly a load of towels and linens that Steve had done that morning. He began to wonder why Rogers had been down there at all. His throat dried, but before he could say anything, Bucky came out of Peggy’s room, his face flushed and his eyes red. 

“Steve,” said Bucky, with a flick of his head, beckoning him. “She’s…ah. She’s ready, for you.” 

Perhaps only Bucky and Steve could recognize how much control Rogers used to keep his face the same stoic façade as he went to Peggy’s door. “Thanks,” he said, but Bucky stopped him with a hand on his arm—his left hand. It slid up to cup Rogers’s face, pulling him in for a kiss.

Steve averted his eyes. Their intimacy was scalding, and he couldn’t help but feel he had no right to witness it. Thankfully, Natasha came back inside just then and he could busy himself offering her tea and a snack while they waited. Rogers went into Peggy’s room, closing the door while Bucky came back into the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the counter with his hands, one metal and the other flesh and bone, once again covering his face. 

Natasha looked at Steve with a question, lifting her eyebrows. He shook his head. Best to leave Bucky alone right now. 

“Tea would be nice,” answered Natasha, and they both puttered around the kitchen together. He instinctually knew her movements and they stepped around each other in the confined space as if they had done this all the time. And they had. Just not recently, and not in this timeline, and not with this Natasha. 

His heart filled with memory and emotion and longing and so many other unsaid things that it made his hands shake as he poured hot water for her. She gently took the pot from him, setting it back on the burner, then leaned into him as he rested his chin on her head.

Steve took a long time with Peggy, but he and Natasha entertained each other with small talk while Bucky sat quietly nearby. Steve served him a mug of tea as well, and after a few minutes, he took a sip. Then, Bucky’s phone vibrated with a call. He sighed. 

“Hey, Maria,” he said, as he answered his phone. “I know. You can’t rush him. This is Peggy Carter we’re talking about.” He paused, frowning as he listened, meeting Steve’s eyes. There was a flicker in those blue depths, then tears spilled over. “Understood,” he said, his voice thick. He hung up. 

They were all silent, the only sound coming from outside the house—Brooklyn traffic, kids playing, distant music. 

“Why don’t I get him,” said Steve. “I can…”

“No,” said Bucky, rising from his stool. “I’ll go.”

Without another word, he went to Peggy’s room, knocked once and then entered, closing the door behind him. Left alone, Steve reached across and took Natasha’s hand. She didn’t say anything but merely squeezed tight. 

About two minutes later, Rogers came out with his sunglasses on, Bucky right behind him. “Let’s go,” he said to Natasha, and then headed for the front door. 

Bucky gave Steve an apologetic look. Natasha hopped off her stool, following in Rogers’s wake. Steve went with them to at least wave them off if nothing else. He thought Rogers would be inside the car already but when they all went out onto the stoop he was waiting politely, staring stone-faced at the street with his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. 

Natasha squeezed Steve’s hand once more, then kissed his cheek before being the first to get in the car. Bucky let out a sigh, pulling Steve in for a quick hug before following Natasha. 

Then, it was just Rogers and him, standing on the porch. Rogers lifted off his sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone,” he said. 

Steve remembered to breathe. “I won’t be. Sharon will be there. And the rest of Peggy’s family. They’re good people.”

Rogers nodded, but he was frowning. “I can get out of this mission. I don’t have to go. Bucky and Sam can handle it. And Nat.”

He almost smiled. “That’s right. You don’t have to go,” he agreed because he knew that’s what Rogers wanted to hear, but he also knew full well that Rogers would go on the mission. Not because he thought he had to, but because that’s what Peggy had asked him to do. 

Rogers nodded, and Steve watched him fight back tears, lowering his sunglasses again to hide his eyes. Steve offered him his hand, and after a beat, Rogers took it. They didn’t shake so much as held on until they let go. Rogers went down the steps, then got into the back of the car. A moment later, it drove off. 

The house lay still and silent when he went back inside. In her room, Peggy no longer sat in her chair but was lying in bed, propped up by several pillows, head turned so she could look out the window. Rogers must have carried her back. The shawls had been folded and returned to their box, and the footstool returned to its spot. 

Peggy’s hands were folded together. At first he thought she might be sleeping, but then she turned her head when he sat on the bed beside her. Her eyes were a little unfocused, a small crease of worry. “It’s so late in the day,” she said.

“Yes,” he answered. 

She looked at him blankly, then turned back to the window. “I thought Steve would visit.”

His heart sank, and he closed his eyes, but he only did so for a second as he shed the illusion. Carefully, he placed a finger below her chin and turned her to look at him again. A smile broke across her face, her eyes bright. “Oh Steve,” she sighed, alight with happiness. “You’re here. You came back.”

“Yes, Peggy,” he said, smiling with her. 

She raised his hand to kiss it. Then, he shifted her slightly, and he lay beside her on the bed. 

*

Peggy’s final days were filled with the quiet serenity of the English countryside, coupled with visits from her nieces and nephews of every age. Steve suspected that Peggy often had no idea who these strangers were, but she seemed perfectly happy to have a baby on her lap, nodding with a vacant smile at whomever sat talking with her. She spent most of her time sleeping. When she did speak, she called people by different names and talked about things from long ago as if they’d happened yesterday. 

The overseas trip had taken its toll, and made her more confused until Steve tucked her into a chair and wheeled her out to the back garden. This was her childhood home, and the familiarity settled her. 

“Michael,” she said, searching for her brother. “Where’s Michael? Is he coming home?” 

“No,” he said, gently, sitting beside her. “He won’t be coming home.”

“Oh,” she said, somehow conveying in that one simple expression her sorrow for that first true heartbreak that shaped her life. “That’s right.” She met his eyes, looking at him like he was a stranger, staring blankly until…a smile slowly emerged. “Steve.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. These brief moments of lucidity were each a gift, though painful since they didn’t last. 

She blinked, then turned back to stare at the garden. “Michael and I used to play together here. He taught me how to fight,” she added, with a faint glimmer of mischief.

“Yeah?” he asked, even though she had already told him this earlier that day, repeating the same story again. 

“And I’d get in so much trouble with mother. So much trouble.”

“I’d say not much has changed.”

Her smile was beatific. She rested her head back against her chair, gazing fondly at him. “I have loved you,” she said. 

The caress of her voice matched the caress of her hand over his. It didn’t matter, whether she meant him or Rogers. “You’ll always be my best girl,” he said. 

The garden called to her. A few of the younger nieces and nephews were playing, drawing her attention away from him. Eventually, her grip slackened as she fell asleep and he carried her back to her bed. 

As the day wore on, Steve sat beside her, napping to the sound of her breathing. No television or radio played in Peggy’s room, but Steve received updates on his phone, dimly aware of the events in Lagos, and the aftermath of the explosion. This time they called it the Superhuman Registration Act, instead of the Sokovia Accords. 

Occasionally, Sharon or another cousin joined him. There might be three or four of them around Peggy’s bed. But at two in the morning, he was alone with her. A sound woke him with a start. He took her hand, still warm to his touch, and he thought she was gone already but then she took another breath, her chest rising. With a sighing exhale, she let go and he felt her spirit leave the room. She was tiny in death, as if her life force had been half her mass. 

Steve bowed his head. Overwhelming gratitude washed over him, to have shared this lifetime with her. It had far exceeded anything he could have dreamt or wished for. A clock ticked somewhere in the room. Outside, a bird called, and he could hear the occasional car driving past or some other indistinct nighttime noise. The minutes slipped past. Everyone else in the house continued sleeping, not aware that she was gone. The one person he kept thinking of was Rogers. He took out his phone, remembering another lifetime when he had received a simple text: _She’s gone. In her sleep._

But he owed Rogers more than that. He placed the call and Rogers answered right away. “It’s me,” he said. Then, “It was peaceful.”

Rogers took a long time to respond. There was noise on his end, many voices overlapping each other, but then it got quiet. “Are you alone with her?” he asked, but before Steve could answer, he said, “I should have been there.”

He wanted to say, “You are.” Instead, he said, “You were there when it mattered. She was asleep for most of it.”

They fell silent. “Things have gotten complicated here,” said Rogers. “They want me in Vienna to sign this thing.”

“I saw the news.” 

“I won’t go. And I’m not signing.”

Steve waited a little bit before speaking again. “Remember I told you, they only get it right about a quarter of the time.”

“Did she…” Rogers trailed off. 

But Steve knew what Rogers wanted to hear. Did she remember me? Was she happy? Was she loved? Is she truly gone? “Yes.”

They fell silent again, and that malleable nature of time reasserted itself. Steve had no memory of ending the call. Someone—either it was Rogers, or he could have asked Bucky or Sam to do it—must have called the house to reach Sharon because Steve felt the change in energy as others entered and stood around her bed. One minute he was stepping out of the way as they carried Peggy from the room, and in the next it was days later and he was stepping into a car that would drive him to the church. 

All three Captains America attended Peggy’s funeral. It was something, to have Sam stand by his side in support much as he had in the other timeline, while Rogers and Bucky helped carry the casket down the center aisle. 

Then, not long after, the bomb went off in Vienna. 

*

Three days passed with no word from anyone. His calls to Bucky and Rogers went unanswered, as were his calls to Tony. He spent that time visiting Peggy’s gravesite, taking long walks through Hampstead Heath, and sitting in the garden of Peggy’s family home. It was time he left this timeline and continued on, but he couldn’t do that just yet. There were things he had left unfinished. 

Though he had told Tony what Zemo did in his timeline, and despite the Nomad teams on standby, the bomb still went off at the United Nations complex. Rogers, Bucky, and Sam had left for Vienna after the news broke, Sharon going with them. Since then, he hadn’t received any updates. He only knew what was reported in the news. King T’Chaka had survived, though one of his guards died in the explosion. There were other casualties. Unlike last time, the press did not show video of a suspected bomber and no statement had been made of the likely perpetrator. His only comfort was that they couldn’t possibly accuse Bucky this time. Every news segment covering the incident in Vienna also reported on the rift between Iron Man and Captain Steve Rogers, known to be on opposite sides of the Superhuman Registration Act. 

Steve was out in the garden when Natasha arrived. He sighed with relief when he saw her. She had a cut across the bridge of her nose, a gash over her left eye, and a bruise beneath her right cheekbone. 

“They’re from the bomb. I’m all right,” she said in answer to his worried look as he inspecting her injuries. 

“How bad is it?” he asked her. He trusted she understood he asked not only about what happened in Vienna but also about the Avengers.

She wrinkled her brow, then twisted her lips with a shrug. “Would you believe me if I said it could be worse?”

“Actually, yes.”

Her sigh told him much. She was the same as his Natasha after all, and he could read her the same way. The feel of her, even just holding her hands, was familiar and comforting. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the funeral,” she said. 

Steve pulled her in closer, breathing in the smell of her hair. “You don’t have to be sorry. And you’re here now. Tell me everything.”

They sat at a garden table placed under a willow tree. No one had come out here to tidy in a while, and the table was covered in leaves and dirt. 

She handed him a tablet. “This is footage from CC TV during the time leading up to the explosion.” He was prepared to see Zemo with a mask, but instead he swiped through photographs of a man wearing his face—Steve Rogers’s face. The man in the video was him. “They haven’t released it yet. For reasons.”

“But, this is obviously fake. They can’t pin this on Rogers.”

“The story is,” she continued, “That in retaliation against the Superhuman Registration Act, and upset about Tony Stark siding against him, Steve Rogers planted a bomb in the—”

He laughed. “You can’t be serious. That’s ridiculous.”

Her eyes matched the green of the willow tree, looking at him with a crease between her brows. “They’re citing behavior going back decades, of Steve Rogers’s insubordination and continual adversarial position against government agencies. He took down SHIELD. Twice.”

“But he was here. At the funeral. There were dozens of witnesses. He couldn’t be in two places at—” He fell silent and stared at her, thunderstruck by realization.

The breeze shook the willow tree, and several more leaves fell. She made a face, almost apologetic. “But that’s the thing,” she said. “He has been. In two places at once.” 

Steve tried to protest, but no words came. 

“1948, one Steve Rogers is frozen in the ice while a second Steve Rogers supposedly rescues James Buchannan Barnes from a Hydra facility in Poland. They dismiss that story as made up by Barnes, a cover-up for why he’s with Hydra to begin with. 1966, one Steve Rogers is in Argentina while a second Steve Rogers drops in on the White House. Saves the president. Then disappears. How’d he know to take out Pierce? 1991, Steve Rogers is shacked up with Bucky Barnes, supposedly retired, but then a second Steve Rogers appears in footage taken from another Hydra base, this time in Siberia, where he takes out the entire facility and then rescues an injured Howard Stark. Stark doesn’t confirm or deny, and a month later he dies from his injuries. And that’s not listing the dozens of sightings in and around New York in the last few years.” 

Steve realized he’d been staring at her with his mouth open. An idiot, he thought. That’s what he was. A total, goddamn idiot. Had he done any good to this timeline? Or had he only messed things up more? “Natasha, I…” But he didn’t know what to say.

“The current theory is Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have been playing an elaborate hoax. On everyone. And they’re both Hydra agents. They’re on the run. Sam Wilson’s with them. All three Captains America are criminals and wanted by the federal government. That’s how Rhodey puts it, but he’s dramatic. Tony’s helping with the search. But this is all coming from Secretary Ross.”

“Did you say things could be worse?” he asked, weakly. “Natasha, it wasn’t him. I can prove it.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head as if examining him from a different angle. 

This wasn’t how he wanted to tell her. This wasn’t his plan, to reveal himself to the world like this. But there was no way he could leave this timeline with Rogers and Bucky in this situation. “You have to listen to me. It wasn’t him. You know Rogers. You know him. You know who he is. I can show you. I can—”

“Steve,” she said, interrupting him, taking his hand. “I know.”

It took a heartbeat, but he finally heard her, and then he experienced a full-body flush as shock rippled over him. She said his name. She called him Steve. When she said, “I know,” she meant she _knew._ Who he really was. She knew him. He almost choked on air, staring at her in wonder. “Wait. You know?”

Her smile, what there was of it, crept slowly across her face. “Yeah. Dummy. I know.”

There was no good place to start, so he started with the easiest question. “Since when have you known?”

She rolled her eyes. “Since about fifteen minutes after meeting you that first time. You may have a pretty convincing trick to disguise your face, which by the way, we all want to know how you do that, but you’re still a terrible liar.” 

He shook his head. “I just can't lie to you. But...all of you know?” he asked, sensing that his eyes were about to pop out of his head. “How many of you know?” Natasha wrinkled her nose but didn’t say. If he were capable of feeling faint, he’d be as pale as a cloud. A thought struck him. This meant... “Does Rogers know? He does, doesn’t he?” 

Again, she pinched her lips and gave him an apologetic non-smile. “The funny part was that most of us figured it out or found out independent of each other, and out of respect, were attempting to keep your secret, but then Thor called from outer space, like you do, with the help of some talking raccoon? Anyway, he said he had a report for Steve, but when we got Steve for him he said, ‘Oh no. Not him. The other Steve.’ And just like that, your cover was blown and anyone who didn’t know already knew then. You can thank Thor.”

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. He was going to murder Bucky. The punk already knew about Rocket but he still let Steve tease him. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

“We thought it best to wait until…” She reached across to clasp his hand. “You had a lot going on. While Peggy Carter was still alive, Steve didn’t want to make things more difficult or more stressful, for either of you. Her care came first.”

The rush of emotion was unexpected. He hadn’t cried at all through her final days, or during the funeral. Now, his hand shook as he raised it to cover his face. Perhaps it was the thought of everyone in the Tower pretending they didn’t know just to make it easier for him. Or the thought of Rogers making that decision, he who knew best beside himself the strain of taking care of Peggy. 

Natasha shifted closer, gently pulling his hand away. The illusion disappeared. God, what a relief, to be with Natasha as himself. She smiled. “There you are,” she said, grasping his face between her two hands. 

He returned her smile. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you,” he said. 

Something deep flickered behind her eyes. Her facial expressions shifted one to the next as she looked at him, revealing her complicated thoughts—calculations and beliefs, fears and worries, faith and hope, all mixed together—but she straightened and gave him a nod. 

He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. 

“So, this thing with Rogers being blamed for the bomb? The Superhuman Registration Act? Is it real, or just a smokescreen?”

“Oh, that part is real,” she said, with a smirk. “It’s a total mess. The U.N. is pushing for ratification of the SRA, but it’s not in effect yet. Sharon’s got a team going after Zemo. She’ll bring him in, but Steve, Bucky, and Sam remain wanted fugitives. And both Tony and Rhodey are ‘helping’ with the search.” She used air quotes. “But it’s okay. It’s all part of the plan.”

“Plan? What plan”

She studied him. “Do you trust me?”

In another lifetime, she’d asked the same question. _If it was the other way around and it was down to me to save your life, now you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?_

There wasn’t a universe where he didn’t trust her. “Yes,” he said.

Her green eyes moistened. But, she nodded. “It’s time to go. Do you have everything? They’re waiting for us.”

Except for a few items he gathered from the house, he had everything he needed already. In his pocket he had the Tahoe shrunken down to the size of a toy car and packed with everything from this life he wanted to take—namely the drawings and sketches he’d drawn of Peggy over the years, their photographs, and a few of her personal things he couldn’t part with. The car was quite full now, stuffed with everything from multiple lifetimes. He had his notebook with Natasha’s letter, and the pictures of her and Sam, he had his compass. He had Pixie’s felt mouse. He would leave this timeline with only those things he’d brought. Everything else in Peggy’s will was left to her family or to Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. 

They took the path back to the heath. Beside a gentle hill that was spotted with trees, Natasha pointed and clicked a device and the door to an invisible quinjet shimmered in the late afternoon sun, lowering to reveal the interior. She looked back at him once, then entered. 

“Where are we going?” he asked as he followed her.

“You’ll see.”

They were in the air in another ten minutes, heading back across the Atlantic. As they descended into New York, he realized they weren’t going to the Tower. “The compound?” he asked her.

She gave him a curious look back. “You know about that?”

He thought of the years his Natasha had lived there, by herself. He nodded. “Yes.” 

The sun was beginning to set when they flew up along the Hudson River. But the Avengers compound wasn’t there like it should be. Instead, it was just a couple old abandoned warehouses and the woods growing along the river.

Natasha adjusted their heading. They dropped a few feet and then…Steve realized what was going to happen mere seconds before it did. The quinjet burst through an invisible force field. What seemed like two abandoned warehouses was actually a bustling hive of buildings, the Avengers logo shining on the side. 

The quinjet pivoted gracefully onto a landing pad. He stood beside Natasha before she activated the quinjet door, not certain whether he should be the old man or not.

“You don’t need a disguise here,” she said, her expression open and artless, taking his hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze. 

It was a wonder that facing his friends and family without illusion took so much courage. With his heart pounding, he pressed the release, and the door to the quinjet hissed, then lowered. 

He saw Tony first. Then, he saw the rest of them. All of them. On one side of Tony stood Rogers, Bucky, and Sam, and on the other side stood T’Challa and Rhodey. Peter Parker hovered by Tony’s shoulder. Okoye and several of her Dora Milaje were there. Behind them, Steve saw Wanda, Vision, and Pietro, and then off to the side were Clint and Laura and their three kids. His heart gave a lurch when he saw Thor, his hair cut short, carrying both Stormbreaker and Mjolnir. With him were Loki and Valkyrie. Korg was also there, and others Steve recognized as the freed slaves from Sakaar. There were more Asgardians, those he knew to be the Warriors Three, and the Lady Sif. Bruce stood beside Thor, sticking close to his side. 

Carol Danvers stood in front of Nick and Maria Hill. Then he spotted Coulson. Scott Lang grinned at everyone like he didn’t quite know how he got there. Steve took in a sharp breath when he spotted the Guardians—Peter Quill with a green-skinned woman who must be Gamora, and the other Guardians at their back. Rocket was trying to get a young Groot to pay attention but he was too preoccupied with a handheld video game. With a sinking heart, he didn’t see Nebula. 

Overwhelmed, Steve sought out Bucky, who raised an eyebrow with a look that said, “Not bad, huh?” Rogers wasn’t smiling at all, looking very stern, arms folded across his chest. He was well on his way to growing a beard, with several days growth showing already.

“That’s almost all of us,” said Tony, stepping closer to Steve, glancing around. “Waiting on one more…” Just as he spoke, sparks appeared mid-air. A large portal opened and out stepped the Ancient One. “And, there we go.” He turned to Steve. “Hi, Cap.”

“Hi, Tony,” said Steve, chest hurting. “You’ve been busy.”

“Well,” said Tony, rubbing at his jaw as he glanced between Rogers and Steve. “When we’re not inciting revolution—” Rogers frowned. Tony gave him a pat pat on his shoulder before turning back to Steve. “I figure, if we’re going to beat this Thanos, and he’s as tough as you say he is, then we’re going to need all hands on deck. Best to do it without prying eyes.” He indicated the force field. “We fight together. Isn’t that what you both are always saying? So.” Tony spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the first gathering of the Secret Avengers.”


	8. The Secret Avengers

The last time Steve had seen this same group of people gathered in one place it had been for Tony’s funeral. Had he known then what he was getting himself into? 

They congregated in the various meeting spaces. He spotted Rogers sitting with T’Challa. Steve didn’t have to look too hard to understand the guilt Rogers felt after what happened in both Lagos and Vienna, especially since Rogers and King T’Chaka were friends. They had been Captain America and Black Panther through much of the Twentieth Century. T’Challa listened, then offered Rogers his hand, accepting his apology. 

Sam and Bucky mixed with Thor and his Asgardian friends, while guards hovered nearby to keep an extra eye on Loki. Valkyrie spoke with Okoye. The young people, Shuri and Peter and Groot, sat together on cushions with their heads bowed. Rocket and Korg were having some kind of debate. Clint and Laura had their hands full managing their kids, until Mantis stepped in to help. With a touch, the youngest dropped off to sleep. 

He noticed Natasha and Gamora talking in a corner, apart from the others. They made room for Tony when he wandered over. Of course these three gravitated to each other, having learned how they died in the other timeline. Then, Loki, who had taken notice of them, caused everyone in the room to grow silent when he too walked up to Natasha. Without acknowledging the attention, Loki asked politely if he could join. He looked at Gamora. “It seems we have something in common,” he said. 

After a beat, Gamora shifted over, and Loki joined their circle. 

Earlier, Steve had spoken to everyone as a group, but it was these four in particular he hoped to convince. 

“If he gets to Nebula before you,” Steve had said to Gamora. “He’ll find out you know where the Soul Stone is. And then, one way or another, he’ll come for you. Best way to avoid that is to just tell him where it is. But don’t do it in person. Send him a message.” 

“Then he’ll get the Stone,” said Gamora. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, meeting Gamora’s gaze. “Let him have it. If he takes you with him to Vormir, he will kill you. And you won’t be coming back. Whatever you do, don’t go to Vormir. Vormir is a trap.” He paused, taking his time to meet Natasha’s gaze, then turning to Loki. “The Stones are not more important than you. It’s the other way around. All of you are more important than the Stones. Realizing the kind of power you have, powerful alone but even greater together, that’s the best way to beat him. You have the advantage. You have everything you need. But find Nebula if you can, before he gets to her. She’s in danger.”

Though he cautioned them that their timelines had diverged enough that his past could no longer be a predictor for their future, he hoped knowing the sequence of events that lead up to Thanos taking the Stones would guide them. There would be consequences to the changes, and they had to do their best to safeguard against them. 

He found Clint and Laura in one of the offices. Their two boys were sacked out on the couch, but Lila was awake, sitting with Mantis. Wanda and Vision were in there too, talking quietly to each other. 

Steve rapped on the doorjamb to get Clint’s attention. “Can I talk to you?” he asked.

Clint looked him over. There was no need to identify which Steve Rogers he was. “Yeah, all right,” said Clint, separating from Laura and following Steve out to the hallway. 

They stopped a couple feet away. Clint looked back once at his family before crossing his arms and giving Steve his attention. 

“I just wanted to…” Steve started, but then words failed him. Unlike in his timeline, this Clint hadn’t retired from the Avengers, since Laura was also on the team and they kept their kids with them. Steve had lived through alternate timelines long enough to understand the power a simple change like that could have. What might have happened if Clint had been there the first time they went up against Thanos? People chose to overlook Clint, but that was a mistake. “You’re the beating heart of this team, you know that?”

Clint froze, then visibly swallowed. “Uh…Cap?”

“Just…” Steve swallowed. “Do me a favor? Get your kids a dog. A big yellow dog. And don’t wait to do it.”

Clint tried to hold close whatever emotion he was feeling, looking down at his feet but still managing to nod. “All right. I’ll do that,” he said, his voice raspy. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, making Clint look at him, remembering a very different Clint Barton.

Clint nodded, and then they hugged, tight. “I’m not going to let anything happen to them,” said Clint. Did he mean just his family? Or the team? Or the entire universe? It didn’t matter.

“I’m counting on it,” said Steve, cupping his face, then letting him go. “Go on, get back to them.”

He watched Clint and Laura for a little longer, until he noticed Wanda. Shuri had come in to speak with Vision, discussing the procedure they would use to remove the Stone, leaving Wanda more or less alone. He crooked his finger, calling her over. 

“What’s up?” she asked. 

It always amused him when she used an Americanism like that. She wasn’t a kid anymore, but he chucked her under her chin. “Just wanted to say hi.”

She narrowed her eyes. But it didn’t take a mind reader to figure it out. “You’re leaving,” she said. 

“You don’t need me.”

Though she looked like she wanted to argue, she didn’t say anything. Vision called for her, taking her attention away.

“Wait,” he said, placing a hand on her arm before she could leave. She was still so young. She had yet to come into her own, and he wondered if he would ever get to see it. To see her at her full maturity. “One on one, you’re powerful enough to beat Thanos.” Wanda became still, and he sensed the charged energy inside her. “I’ve seen you do it. And I can’t say the same for anyone else here. Remember that, okay? It will be a group effort, but you,” he squeezed her hand. “You can take him. Don’t let your guard down.”

A delicate flush painted her cheeks, but she straightened. With a little smile she said, “Yes, Captain.”

He gave her a nod, and then let her return to Vision.

A shout rang out, followed by more loud voices, banging, and the shattering of glass. He looked over and saw the Asgardians in the kitchen, searching for food and drink. The giant redhead named Volstagg—he saw the family resemblance to Magnus—had his head in the refrigerator, while Bruce, trying to be helpful, was bringing stuff out of the pantry. Fandral and Hogun opened and closed the cupboards until Fandral found the liquor cabinet, crying out with a happy, “Hey Ho!” He poured a drink for Valkyrie and himself. Lady Sif and Loki looked on with mild disgust. 

Content with a mug of coffee, Thor watched his companions, deeply amused. “Captain,” he said, when he noticed Steve. He set his mug down, and before Steve knew what happened, Thor wrapped him up in a big bear hug. 

Steve took a moment to relish how it felt to be the smaller person. “Thanks,” he said when Thor released him, as if Thor had sensed he needed that. Maybe they both did. “Uh…I wanted to ask,” he said, getting his bearings again, “What are your plans?”

At his question, Thor gave him a tight grin, picking up his mug again. The other Asgardians, even Loki, quieted down, reminding Steve that these warriors had all had each other’s back for hundreds of years, and had fought side by side for much of that time. They knew Thor in ways he never would. Except for Valkyrie, who was even older than the rest, standing with her arms folded across her chest. 

“You mean about Asgard…and Ragnarok?” asked Thor. 

Steve heard the tension in his voice that he tried to hide, eyeing the different reactions from the Asgardians. None of the Warriors appeared to understand the gravity of what was on the horizon for them. Loki did, though, thought Steve, noting how he narrowed his eyes much the same way the other Loki had, waiting for him in that space bar. Valkyrie appeared indifferent. 

“Well, we uncovered the imposter.” Thor nodded at Loki, whose expression simply said, “Hey, I got away with it for a while, didn’t I? Win for me.” “We’ve collected our father and brought him to Norway. Odin refuses to return to Asgard. He won’t take up the throne again,” continued Thor, with no indication how that affected him. “For now, Heimdall—who knew you had Mjolnir all this time by the way—remains on Asgard to protect it and its people, and he will begin the evacuation as you warned us, though we must do so in secret. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif will return tomorrow to join him and aide in the effort. Loki and I, and Valkyrie, will remain on Earth for as long as Odin lives, and await…our sister.”

“Thor,” said Fandral with frank misgivings. “To evacuate Asgard? You do realize that’s madness.”

“It is not our place to question,” interjected Hogun.

“But that prophesy? It was proven false years ago. Odin killed Surtur.”

“Surtur cannot die,” said Loki, quietly. “Not until he fulfills his destiny.”

Fandral did not like that. He turned to Thor. “You’re willing to abandon Asgard after millennia, because of what one misplaced, man-out-of time has said? Do you truly believe him?” he asked. 

A stony silence followed. Volstagg, frozen in place with his hand in a potato chip bag, looked back and forth between them. Thor took his time, setting his mug down on the counter. “To answer your question, my good friend,” he said to Fandral, but he met Steve’s eyes. “Yes, I do believe him.”

Fandral sighed. Steve cleared his throat. “And what about the Tesseract?” he asked, moving the conversation along. 

“It remains on Asgard for the time being,” answered Thor. 

Loki shifted, raising a finger. “Ah. Actually,” he said, and immediately all three Warriors and Lady Sif groaned. 

“Loki! You didn’t,” thundered Thor. Loki winced. “Tell me you didn’t take it?”

“Well honestly,” said Loki, exasperated. “What did you expect me to do? Isn’t the whole point of this charade to keep it _out_ of that purple ogre’s hands? Do you think leaving it on Asgard keeps our people safe? Especially without the Allfather? The vultures will begin to circle. I did you all a favor.”

Their conversation caught the attention of Carol Danvers and Nick Fury. In fact, Steve realized, everyone in the common rooms had stopped whatever they were doing to listen, including Rogers and Bucky. “Are you saying you have the Tesseract?” asked Carol, stepping ahead of Fury. 

Loki’s nostrils flared as he sized Carol up. The tension in the room skyrocketed. “What business is it of yours?” he asked. 

Carol’s fists began to glow. Loki glanced down but beside a slight eyebrow raise didn’t react. “Show me,” she said. 

He pinched his lips, but he glanced at Thor. “Do it,” said Thor. 

With a clenched jaw, Loki circled his two hands, revealing the brilliant blue of the Tesseract. Steve sighed. It seemed that thing was going to haunt him forever. Loki held it up on the tips of his fingers, though it floated just above without touching. It sent shafts of blue light across the rooms. With a maniacal grin, the gleam in Loki’s eyes grew, and it was shades of New York all over again. Thor called both his hammer and Stormbreaker to him. “Loki,” he said, warningly. Everywhere weapons were drawn. 

Then, in a flash, Valkyrie went behind Loki, holding a knife to his throat. “Think carefully,” she said. 

The tight kitchen space throbbed with tension. Steve figured it was time he did something. 

“Loki,” he said, and everyone turned to him, but he was waiting for Loki to lift his gaze. “I made you a promise, in a different time. One I still mean to keep. I promised to bring your brother to you. To bring the Thor I knew, from my time. To you. A different you, but still you. Thor lost his home. His friends.” He looked at Fandral. “His family.” He looked back at Loki. “He nearly lost all of his people. I promised I’d bring him to you. In exchange, you taught me your gift.” He changed his appearance to look exactly like Loki. There was a hush of indrawn breath. Loki narrowed his eyes. “You have a chance here,” he said in Loki’s voice. “To be truly great.”

Loki tilted his head as he stared at Steve wearing his face. The moment balanced on a knife’s edge. He let go one tiny sigh. “Release me,” he said to Valkyrie. She hesitated, but then dropped her knife and stepped back. Loki tossed the Tesseract to Carol. “Catch.” 

Carol caught the cube. The tension in the room immediately eased, and everyone began moving again, the noise of conversation rising. Thor beamed at his brother, jostling him by the shoulder. Loki merely rolled his eyes. Steve heard Carol ask Fury if they had a flerken, whatever that was, that could swallow the Tesseract. 

“No,” said Fury, deadpan. “Besides, he can’t keep it down. It’s disgusting. Come with me,” he said, guiding Carol away from the kitchen. “We still have the container units we used to keep it in before.”

“Well that was exciting,” said Bruce, once everything had calmed down and returned more or less to normal. “Hi, Cap. It is Cap, right?”

Steve grinned, releasing the Loki illusion. “Hi Bruce. It’s good to see you. Back from space, all in one piece? How did you find it?”

Steve had asked Thor to take Bruce with him when he left Earth after they defeated Ultron. It seemed prudent, to keep some things as close to the original as they could, to strengthen the timeline and not have it go too wildly off course. Thor needed to get to Sakaar. They needed Valkyrie, as well as Korg and Miek and all the others that were enslaved on that far away planet. And for that, Thor had needed Bruce...and the Hulk. 

“Oh, you know,” said Bruce, with a shrug. “Constant terror. Always on the verge of freaking out. I ate a squid thing. Started a revolution. Did some uncharted metagalatic travel through cosmic gateways. That part was cool actually—ever see a collapsing neutron star stuck inside an Einstein-Rosen bridge? They called it the Devil’s Anus.”

“The what? Wait, never mind,” said Steve, with a shake of his head. He looked Bruce up and down. “But you’re okay, otherwise?” 

“Oh, sure,” said Bruce. “You know how it goes. Tony isn’t speaking to me, but we’ll get through it.” Bruce looked thoughtfully at Steve. “He…the other me…did he really integrate the two personalities?”

Ah, thought Steve, realizing Tony wasn’t mad at Bruce for going with Thor, but rather it was more complicated then that. Steve studied Bruce, taking in the signs of stress that were always present. “Yes, he did. But you’re not required to do the same thing, you know.” 

Bruce frowned, then nodded. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Steve gripped Bruce’s shoulder, then brought him in for a side hug. Bruce was that comfortable height, tucking in right under his chin. “Speaking of Tony, do you know where he is?”

“Made his excuses a little while ago. Now he’s holed up in his lab. Come on, I’ll take you there.”

They passed through several hallways, arriving at Tony’s lab. Bruce punched in a code and the door opened. It was quieter in this part of the building. Tony was sitting at a center worktable, surrounded by holograms that he turned and flipped and expanded. A little closer inspection revealed he was designing a new suit, and by the looks of it, one intended to hold the Infinity Stones. 

On the worktable sat a wooden box, the kind that might hold a series of watches. Steve’s heart thumped in his chest. He knew what was in that box.

Tony looked up from his work. His expression softened when he saw Steve. 

“Hi, Tony,” said Steve.

“Hey, Cap.” Tony shifted his attention over to Bruce. “Bruce,” he said, in a deeper, more teasing tone.

“Oh, you’re speaking to me again? That’s nice.” Bruce looked around at Tony’s lab. The place was a mess, every surface covered with rejected suit parts and discarded equipment, trash on the floor, boxes half unpacked everywhere. “What have you been doing in here?”

Broken glass seemed to be a staple in every single one of Tony’s labs that Steve had ever visited. The robots were trying to clean it up but not doing a very good job of it. 

“What?” asked Tony, defensively. “This is normal.”

“This is not normal,” answered Bruce, pushing a box to clear a path. “Are you trying to drive her away? You’re not making it easy.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s not my job to make it easy,” he said, unapologetic.

Steve wasn’t entirely certain who they were talking about, but he figured it was either FRIDAY or a new robot. 

There was a challenging silence between Tony and Bruce, until Bruce nodded, making that face he did when he didn’t want to fight. “Right,” he said, barely looking at either one of them. Bruce left the lab. 

Steve turned to Tony. “Come on,” he said. Tony had the good grace to look a little guilty. “Whatever you’re fighting about, it’s not worth it. Trust me.”

“I know, I know,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll cuddle up to him later.”

Tony closed most of the holograms, clearing the air around him and making space on the worktable. He placed the watch box in the center, then motioned Steve over to sit opposite him. 

“I want to show you something,” said Tony. “Found it attached to the read me file in the original device.” He accessed his phone, then a holographic picture of Morgan Stark appeared, not quite four-years-old. Steve felt all of his blood drain away. They stared at the picture mutely, until Tony turned to Steve. “Who is she?”

“Tony,” started Steve, but he had absolutely no idea what he could say. In the picture, Morgan was smiling. She was almost identical to how Tony looked at that age. It ripped Steve apart. “Please…don’t.”

“Who. Is. She?” 

He forced himself to speak. “She’s your daughter,” he said. “Morgan.”

Steve didn’t have words to describe the look Tony gave him: disbelief, but also a bone-deep recognition. He shook his head yes and no, then he went red in the face as if someone had punched him in the stomach and had given him a puppy at the same time. “Was she… is she…okay? Did anything happen to her, with…” he made a vague gesture that Steve took to mean the Battle of Earth, and what happened with Thanos.

“She’s okay,” he said. “It’s only been five seconds since I left. She’s fine.” But how could she be fine? Morgan would grow up without her father. With no warning, Steve felt tears close his throat. It was a decades old wound made fresh again, combined with losing Peggy.

Tony watched him with his dark eyes. “Who’s her mother?”

Of course Tony wasn’t going to go easy on him. “Her name is Pepper Potts. You were together for a long time. Up until…what happened. For some reason, she doesn’t exist in this timeline.”

“Hm,” said Tony, staring at Morgan’s picture. “Unintentional time variance. It happens when you go messing with time.”

“I know,” said Steve, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. For more than I can say.”

Tony had every right to be furious with him. But one corner of Tony’s mouth lifted in half a smile. It was neither a sad nor happy smile, neither accusation nor forgiveness. “Is she the price I pay in this universe so everyone can live?”

That wasn’t a question that had an answer, and they sat silently in each other’s presence until Tony closed Morgan’s picture and opened the watch box, turning it to face Steve. It contained six new GPS quantum devices. From a side drawer, Tony took out the original and set it down. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve said, “You did it.” 

“Wasn’t hard,” said Tony. Steve gave him a look. “Okay, it was incredibly hard. Do you know how difficult it is to make Pym particles? I had to reverse engineer it. Took me like a week.” Steve gave him another look. “All right, more like several months.” 

“But you managed?”

“Well I wasn’t going to ask old Hank Pym for more. He’d break my jaw. And I couldn’t wait around for Ant-Man to be a thing. So yeah, I managed. Take a look,” he said, offering Steve one of the devices. “I upgraded it.”

“Show me,” said Steve.

Tony picked up the old device and held it up to show him the differences. “The original device ties you to the quantum platform in your reality. The user initiates the trip home when they’re ready. But for safety, my counterpart programmed an override. In case something goes wrong, they can force you back to the platform. In your case, to avoid that you need to return before the five seconds are up. Then, it can’t pull you back because you’re already there. Got it?” He held up the original device. 

“Got it,” said Steve, taking it back, feeling its familiar weight before setting it down on the table. 

“Now, with these,” said Tony, removing one of the new devices, placing it on his palm. “Each suit contains its own quantum platform. When you activate it, the platform forms underneath you.” 

“What?”

Tony tapped on the head of the device and a holographic screen appeared in the space above it. He showed Steve how it worked, how to program the time and place, and how he had already entered coordinates for every alternate timeline Steve had visited. “Go ahead. Try it on.”

A little nervous, Steve put his device around his palm, then stood in a more or less open spot of the lab, Tony kicking several boxes out of the way, muttering to himself that maybe Bruce had been right about the mess. With a deep breath, Steve activated the suit and a platform materializing beneath him. “Whoa,” he said. 

“Yeah,” beamed Tony, hopping onto the platform beside Steve. Another holograph screen showed location and destination. “From here, you can pretty much do anything you want. Assuming you know the quantum signature and when and where you’re going. This gage here tells you how many particles you have left,” he said, pointing to a fuel meter. “I increased the efficiency, so one vial lasts for several cycles. But, don’t go breaking the multiverse, please.”

Together they programmed the device for his next jump. The new device allowed for greater precision. He knew down to the second when he would appear, and exactly where. It was several times more than what he had asked for. 

“I’ll try not to,” he said, gazing at everything with wonder.

That got Tony to smile. He stepped off the platform and Steve deactivated the suit, finding his balance as the platform disappeared. He kept the device around his palm, closing the box on the other five devices and the original device, minimizing it to put it in his pocket. 

They fell silent as they regarded each other, and Steve felt tears sting his eyes. He had known this man from infancy, had held him as a newborn baby and cared for him as a child, had seen him grow and change and mature. Steve understood that, with his leaving, Tony was losing another father figure.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay,” said Tony, with a strained voice, those dark eyes shining. 

“If I thought you needed me, I would,” said Steve, gently taking hold of Tony. He almost said he wished he could stay but the truth was he was ready to move on. “If I thought any of you needed me. But you don’t. Besides,” he said with a smile. “You already have a Steve Rogers. The man who’s leaving, he’s just Peggy’s husband, and it’s his time to go.”

Tony was never much of a hugger, but Steve put his arm around him, and let him rest his head on his shoulder. 

The door to the lab opened as someone walked in. Steve let Tony go before turning to see who it was. His jaw dropped and he stood there, dumbstruck. Pepper Potts stood by the door, looking unsure of herself for intruding. 

“Oh, sorry,” she said, turning to leave. 

“Wait,” said Steve, looking from Pepper to Tony to Pepper again. “I…I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he managed. 

Tony narrowed his eyes, giving him a curious look. “Miss Ferris,” Tony said to Pepper. “This is one of our Steve Rogers. The older one. How old are you anyway? You’ve got to be like a thousand by now.”

“Tony.”

“Right. Sorry. Cap, this is my newest assistant, Miss Ferris.”

Pepper looked thoroughly like Pepper Potts—smart, stylish suit, professional and precise, holding a clipboard. “Uh. Hi,” she said, with a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Tony frowned as though she didn’t have a right to blush at Steve. “Did Bruce send you in? The mess makes him cranky,” he added, like that had any bearing on the conversation. 

“I’ve been trying to meet with you all day. I have a million and one things I have to talk to you about,” she said, looking down at her clipboard. “And you’ve missed each meeting I put in your calendar.”

“Who uses calendars?”

“Everyone uses calendars.” Silence followed this statement. “Okay, normal people use calendars. You ignored FRIDAY as well.”

“Excuse me, I had a Secret Avengers convention happening,” said Tony, defensively. 

“Secretary Ross has called about fifty times in the last half hour. Do you want to speak to him, yes or no?”

“Yes, and then put him on hold.”

She marked her clipboard. “That’s a ‘no.’”

As Steve watched Tony and Pepper quip back and forth, he felt his last hold on this timeline melt away, and a smile tugged on his lips. He was overwhelmed with relief. “Thank God,” he said, forgetting himself. Tony and Pepper stopped bickering and looking at him. “Uh, yes, sorry.” He cleared his throat. Tony frowned again, picking up on Steve’s emotions but not knowing the cause. “Can I ask, what’s your given name?”

Pepper smiled. “Oh. It’s Virginia. But my friends call me Pepper.”

Tony paled. It was subtle, but Steve swore he could hear the blood rushing in Tony’s heart. “You never told me that,” said Tony.

“You never asked,” said Pepper.

Before they could start bickering again, Steve placed a hand on Tony’s arm to keep him quiet. “And, I’m sorry for the personal question, but is Ferris a family name?”

She blinked in surprise. “It’s my mother’s maiden name,” she said. There was a flicker of long ago sadness in her eyes, but she shrugged with another smile. “I was raised by my Uncle Morgan.”

He turned to Tony, who wore the expression of someone who had just walked smack dab into his own destiny. Given that something similar had happened with Alexander Pierce, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. Steve scolded himself for not trying harder to find her. But it was probably better this way. He squeezed Tony’s arm to get his attention. 

“I can see you both have a lot of work to do,” said Steve even though Tony was giving him a subtle panicky look. Pepper clearly had no idea what was going on, jumping with a start when Steve took her hand, encasing it in both of his. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Same,” she said, that pretty blush coloring her cheeks again. 

With another quick look at Tony, who seemed to have unfrozen himself, he exited the lab, and heard her say, “That was odd.”

“Right?” agreed Tony. “Well, he’s from a different universe, what can you expect. Uh…welcome to the Avengers, by the way. These are what Tuesdays are like.”

Pepper laughed, and Steve walked away from the lab, smiling. 

By the time he made it back to the common room, it was empty except for two Captains America, sitting on the couch. Sam and Bucky were engaged in deep conversation. It looked like they had started going over intel of some kind, but by this point not much work was getting done. They had hit upon that time in the evening when everything was funny. 

Steve observed them unnoticed from the kitchen, another scene he tried to burn into his memory, a talisman to hold close until he got home and could return to his own Sam and Bucky again. 

In this reality, it was Bucky who teased Sam, rather than the other way around. Such a change from the Bucky that waited for him by the platform. But yet, that Bucky was home, and Steve missed him more than he could say.

Behind him, he sensed a slight shift in the air. He turned to see Rogers, arms folded in judgment and with that hard crease etched in between his eyes. 

They hadn’t spoken since Steve arrived at the compound, and even before then they had barely exchanged any words at Peggy’s funeral. He was pretty certain Rogers had been avoiding him. 

“I’m not sure if I should punch you or thank you,” said Rogers. 

Steve relaxed. “That is a dilemma.”

Rogers’s lips twitched, though his frown deepened. He looked Steve up and down, perhaps noticing both their similarities and their few differences. “How are you?” he asked. 

Besides Natasha earlier that morning, no one had asked him that. Steve shook his head. He almost said he was okay—he’d lost Peggy so many times now, and he’d gone through her funeral twice. He was an old pro at this. But he couldn’t lie to himself. Neither could he put his feelings into words. “Oh. You know…”

Rogers stepped forward, and they reached for each other, free to grip as strongly as they could. There was a mirrored ache in Rogers’s eyes. Truth was, they had both loved her, unconditionally, for so long. 

When Steve had himself under control again, he asked. “How did you find out about me?”

Rogers seemed reluctant to say, like he didn’t want to betray a confidence. “Peggy,” he admitted. “She didn’t mean to. She thought I was you. It seemed easier to let her talk, rather than confuse her more. But once she let it slip, we talked about you often. These last few years, I learned a lot. Like the fact that Bucky had known since the sixties,” he said, pointedly. “But I’m not sure I would have believed any of it until I found your hidden basement.”

It had always been a risk, as Peggy’s memory and confusion grew worse, but Steve had never once considered keeping Rogers away from her. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have found out like that. I should have told you. Or asked Bucky to tell you. Did you get mad at him?”

“For a minute,” said Rogers. “It’s not like I could blame him. He’s loyal. And he was being loyal to me. Just a different me.” He paused, tilting his head. “In your reality, are you and him…?”

He supposed that was natural curiosity. Steve felt his ears burn. 

His travels through different realities had taught him not to place a higher or lesser value on different life choices just because they were different. He didn’t love Bucky—either Bucky—any less than Rogers for not having a physical relationship with him. He thought of Oregon. Their time together there was precious to him, just as it was. He wouldn’t trade a second of it for anything in the world. 

He shook his head, turning to watch Bucky and Sam goofing off in the other room. “My Bucky spent so many years without an identity, except for the one that Hydra gave him. You don’t get over that too quickly. But he’s getting there. We took what time we could for ourselves,” he said. “You know, I did all this for him.” 

He waved his hand around, indicating the timeline he was in. There was no use in denying it. They had handed him a working time machine, and with it, he had saved Bucky Barnes. 

Rogers grew pale, remembering what the alternative to his reality actually meant. “I would have done the same thing.”

“I know,” said Steve. They continued watching their friends in silence, until Steve took out a USB drive from his pocket and handed it to Rogers. 

“What’s this?” Rogers asked, taking the drive.

“Nomad,” said Steve. “That should give you operational control and access to everything, for both the non-government organization and the more…covert side of things.” Rogers and Bucky had dropped in and out of Nomad over the years, and Steve had called on them when they were needed until the Avengers came along, but he was handing over the reins now. Steve had always meant to give it to Rogers, and felt he probably should have done so earlier. “It’s yours to do with however you want.”

Rogers stared at the drive, then put it in his pocket. “Thanks,” he said. 

Steve grinned, guessing that Rogers had made his choice between punching him or thanking him. 

“About that face you’ve worn over the years?” asked Rogers, turning to him. Oh right, thought Steve. There was that. He changed back into a younger Joseph Grant, one last time. Rogers frowned with wonder. “You chose Dad. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Did Loki really teach you to do that?”

“So you heard that? He did.” At Rogers’s continued look of amazement, he said. “Not this Loki, obviously.”

“The one you made the promise to?” asked Rogers. He was still looking at Steve like he had never truly seen Joseph Grant this clearly before, this up close. 

“Yes, him.” 

Rogers placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and the illusion dissolved in a string of sparks. “I’d like to hear more about it,” he said. 

“Okay,” answered Steve. He had several hours still, before morning. 

From the other room, Bucky waved. “Hey,” he called to them. “My two Steves. Stop hiding in the dark. Get over here.”

“Man, that sounds like a bad sitcom,” quipped Sam, beside him on the couch. They laughed and began pitching plot lines to each other for their imaginary television series. Sam claimed the role of the interfering neighbor. Bucky said there had to be wacky hijinks every episode. 

Rogers watched with a softened expression, eyes full of love as he gazed upon Bucky. 

“When are you going to ask him to marry you?” asked Steve. It was spectacular, seeing Rogers go extremely red in the face. “You can do that now. What are you waiting for?”

Rogers stammered. Steve wanted to laugh at him, but seeing as he’d be laughing at himself, he held back. “Things have been a little crazy the last few years.”

“They’re only going to get crazier,” said Steve. He grabbed the last few beers from the fridge, and left Rogers to brood in the darkened kitchen.

In the other room, he joined Sam and Bucky, handing out beers. It didn’t take long for Rogers to join them, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“Wait, I gotta get a picture of this,” said Sam taking out his phone, making the four of them gather around for a Captain America selfie. 

They carried the My Two Steves sitcom joke a little longer, but it reminded Steve of how he used to tease Peggy for having a Steve at work and a Steve at home. He missed her, and wished desperately that she could be here with them, with her boys. After seventy years with her, he felt like half a person. Perhaps sensing his melancholy, Rogers steered the conversation back on topic. He wanted as much intel as Steve could give him. 

“Tell us about the final battle,” asked Rogers.

So he did, in greater detail than he had earlier because he knew he could. Instinct told him these men would not experience the same battles he had. He called Mjolnir to him from where he’d left it earlier, setting the hammer down on the coffee table and resting his hand on it. The hammer was still as he spoke, describing what it had been like. 

“Then I heard your voice, Sam,” he said with a grateful smile, those kind eyes of Sam’s meeting his. “And the portals opened across the sky.”

They fell silent until Sam cleared his throat. “That reminds me,” he said, stretching to reach behind the couch, bringing up a round leather shield case. “Tony said you needed a shield. We discussed it, and we think you should have this,” he said, presenting Steve with the Captain America shield. 

“What?” he asked, but he took the shield partway out of the case, running his fingers over the metal. “I can’t take this.”

“You can and you will,” said Sam. “Bucky and I have our own. And Steve doesn’t want his anymore.”

“It’s true,” said Rogers, with a slight shrug.

“Every universe should have at least one shield, unbroken,” said Bucky. “Take it.”

“But, what about…?” he looked at Rogers, then at Sam and Bucky. A small smile lingered over Bucky’s lips, and Rogers looked his usual stern self. Sam was grinning. Three Captains America, all equally as stubborn. And Mjolnir, silent and still on the table, telling him it would be okay. He met Sam’s eyes. “I know just who to give it to.”

Sam nodded. “You tell that other Sam he’s got some catching up to do.”

He smiled, resting a hand on the shield before he minimized it and put in his pocket with all the rest of his things. They spoke for a little longer, Steve telling tales of his misadventures returning the Stones. As before, Bucky wanted to know all the details about space travel—some things don’t change, thought Steve. 

Eventually, Rogers said it was time he got some sleep. Steve shook his hand, managing to convey in that simple gesture how much they meant to each other. 

Sam also said it was time he went to bed, but he disappeared into one of the offices and came back with a printed picture in his hand. “You should have this,” he said, handing it to Steve. It was a print out of the Captain America selfie they’d taken earlier. “Put that in your notebook, and remember us.”

“You know about my notebook?” asked Steve, taking out said notebook and carefully slipping in the picture next to the others.

“Man, you are not as sneaky as you think you are,” said Sam, gapped tooth grin in full force. He pulled Steve in for a hug. “Thank you for coming to all those meetings. Got me through some difficult days, knowing I could count on seeing you. Well, the old man you.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” said Steve, cupping the back of Sam’s head, holding him there for an extra heartbeat. 

Bucky said he’d follow in a minute, and Rogers and Sam nodded their goodbyes, leaving Steve alone with him. The compound was quiet, but it didn’t feel empty the way it had during those five years, with that weighty, heavy silence of the missing and the absent. Steve couldn’t remember any time in his past when the Avengers compound was this full of superheroes—Secret Avengers indeed.

Bucky was watching him, careful and observant. “You ready?” he asked. 

Steve shrugged. He was ready, but not to say goodbye. “I hate saying goodbye to you. I’ve done it too many times.”

“Then don’t say it.”

“All right,” said Steve. He held out a hand, and Bucky took it. “I’ve got one last thing to give you.”

Pulling Bucky along, he led him back to the kitchen. From the fridge, he took out a large container of lasagna. Natasha had given him a funny smile when he’d brought it on the quinjet. He’d taped the recipe, carefully torn from his notebook, to the lid. 

“Wow,” said Bucky, amused. “Good thing Volstagg hasn’t found it yet.”

Steve grinned. “You can cook more. It’s your recipe. Teach Rogers how to make it for you.”

“Hm, that’ll be fun,” he said, laughing when Steve blushed. 

Bucky carefully unfixed the recipe from the lid, folding it and putting it in a pocket, then he put the lasagna back in the fridge. They faced each other, and without another word, went into each other’s arms.

“Thanks for pulling me out of that place,” said Bucky.

Steve’s throat closed as he squeezed tighter. “I’d do it again if I could.”

It was a precious moment, with no one hurrying them along, and no one watching, but it couldn’t last forever. “Go get some rest,” he said. “Don’t keep your future husband waiting.”

He grinned at Bucky’s comically wide eyes. “You’re such a punk,” grumbled Bucky, starting down the hallway. 

With a pang that left him yearning, Steve watched him go. Then, he was alone, staring around at the now empty common rooms. How had it gotten to be almost three in the morning? 

Movement outside caught his attention through the large windows, and, with Mjolnir in hand, he stepped out onto the deck. The fresh air woke him, and the sky was pregnant with rain that did not fall. A figure, dressed in rich, golden yellow, glided across the field to the tree line by the river. The Ancient One paused, glancing back as if beckoning him. 

He walked across the dewy grass and joined the Ancient One by the riverbank as the moon broke through the clouds, laying sliver tracks cross the water. A nighttime animal splashed, creating ripples in the current. 

“That is fitting, don’t you think?” she said. “A single disturbance sending waves across water. Rather like the snapping of fingers sending a shock wave across the multiverse.” 

“Or, a man traveling back in time, creating alternate realities everywhere he goes?” he offered. 

Her smile was careful as she turned toward him. “We are here only temporarily. Even Thanos is but a speck in time. Even those of us who, in comparison, live for longer. We exist but for an instant. But still that temporary existence leaves an impact. That is how the multiverse is formed.” Her pale skin glowed in the nighttime. She inspected him more closely. “You were a student of Kamar-Taj. I can see its mark on you. How far did you get in your studies?”

He grinned, and shook his head. “Not very far,” he admitted. “Probably just enough to get me into trouble. I mostly read through your library.” He briefly told her about the alternate 2012 and their rooftop meeting. 

She looked a little disturbed by his story. “Both Strange and I gave up the Time Stone,” she said, with an uncertain expression. It was an odd look for her. From what he knew of wizards, having spent those months at Kamar-Taj, they basically knew everything in the universe, or at least acted like they knew. It was unnerving to see her unsure of herself. 

“Yes,” he said. “Not exactly standard operating procedure, I take it.”

“No. Not at all.”

They fell silent as they turned to gaze at the water, the Ancient One bowing her head, deep in thought. Steve listened to the river’s familiar song. He was uncertain how to ask what he wanted to ask, so he just asked it. “Do they survive?”

She looked apologetic. “I cannot tell you.”

“But I’ll be leaving soon,” he said, earnestly, trying to keep his tone reasonable. “Telling me shouldn’t affect what happens. I won’t…it won’t make things worse.”

“You misunderstand me,” she said, gently. “I have never been able to see past the moment of my own death. I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”

His heart sank as he frowned at her. “But Strange saw… he saw over fourteen million possible futures. And only one of them where we won. How could he see that if he can’t see past his own death?”

“We don’t know what he saw. But, in your reality, Strange, and all the others, were snapped into non-existence. It’s not the same as true death. There is a difference.”

He digested this, struggling to come to terms with the fact that he might never know what happens in this timeline once he left. He couldn’t ask Strange. Strange had only just arrived at Kamar-Taj. He wasn’t ready. And Steve did not think any other wizard would dare use the Time Stone in that same way. It was risky and could draw Thanos’s attention.

“I’m…sorry,” he managed, sighing. If he remembered correctly, her death was only a few months away. “I’m being selfish.”

“It’s a hard lesson to learn, to rely on faith,” she said. A large portal opened up behind her. Through it, he could see the stone walkways of Kamar-Taj. “There is nothing more you can do for them. The future is in their hands, as it should be because this is their universe. But consider this,” she said, and it seemed for a moment as if the moon grew brighter. “If there is one path out of fourteen million that guarantees survival for all, do you not think they will find it?” She turned to go through the portal, but spoke one last time. “Besides, don’t you have a time machine?”

Without waiting for his answer, she stepped through and vanished in a few bright golden sparks. 

Stunned, he stood facing the softly flowing moonlit river, closing his fist around the time travel device. The entire universe lay within the palm of his hand. 

The nighttime chorus of noise rose in volume. What a busy place, he thought. Somehow his life was tied to this spot. He kept coming back to it—to the riverbank, and the bench. He set Mjolnir down just as he sensed more than heard the whisper of a breath behind him. 

“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” asked Natasha, standing within a beam of moonlight.

He grinned, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Her lips twisted up into that lopsided smile of hers. All pretenses fell away, and he held out both of his hands to her, grateful when she took hold. He led her to the bench. They were silent for several minutes, with him holding her hand.

“What’s next for you?” he asked, though if she were like his Natasha, he knew what was next for her.

She shook her head. “This business with the Superhero Registration Act. And everything that’s happened with the Avengers… It’s got me thinking about my past. I’ve run away from it for too long.” When he nodded, she narrowed her eyes. “You knew already.”

He shrugged. “A little,” he said, carefully smoothing down her hair, ruffled by a breeze. “You told me some of it. Enough to help Nomad close the Red Room program.” He paused, curling his hand around hers. “Why don’t you take Bucky with you? Someone from this family should meet your old one.”

She tilted her head and seemed to consider it. “What about you? What’s next for you?”

He shrugged. “I got some promises to fulfill. And one Stone still in play,” he said, gazing at her. She was the third of his Natashas. If he could save a million of her, then maybe he would begin to recover.

Another nighttime creature splashed in the water and the river sang its song softly to them. The minutes passed, and too soon he saw the sky begin to lighten in the east. 

“I never told her what she meant to me,” he confessed, quietly. Natasha lifted her eyes to meet his. They changed in the moonlight, from green to a misty gray. “My Natasha. Before she was gone. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

Those misty eyes darkened, but Natasha smiled in that same beloved lopsided way. “She knew. How could she not know?”

He smiled, but then he frowned again. “Maybe don’t jump off any cliffs this time, okay? Promise?”

She pinched her lips, staring off into the river like she was trying to see into her future. “Okay. Promise.”

He relaxed. Natasha shivered in the chilly dawn air, and that reminded him of his final gift. He took out a carefully folded bundle from an inside jacket pocket. “She would want you to have this,” he said, unfolding one of Peggy’s shawls, wrapping it around Natasha’s shoulders. 

“What else have you got in those pockets?” she teased. 

“You do not want to know.”

They laughed, and then he tucked her into his arms. When they stepped apart, he saw a line of people marching down from the building in the gray dawn light. 

“Is this your doing?” he asked her, as Tony and Bruce lead the way. Rogers and Clint followed with Rhodey right behind, and then Wanda and Sam and Bucky. Vision and Pietro. Thor was the last. 

“You think they would miss it?” she smirked. “We’re the Avengers.”

“Uh, pardon me,” said Tony as he arrived. “But we’re actually the Secret Avengers. Very important.”

Steve grinned, overwhelmed and so grateful even though it would be more difficult to leave with all of them there. “I guess you are,” he said, gazing fondly.

They came up to him, one by one. It was overwhelming, and his vision blurred. He tried to hold on to each—to Bucky and Sam, he cradled Tony, then Bruce and Clint, and then finally Thor. Natasha was the last to let go. “You said you still have one Stone in play, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. 

“You’re going to save her with it aren’t you?” Bucky and Sam stood on one side of Natasha, and Rogers on the other.

He called Mjolnir from where it sat on the bench, and it snapped into his hand. “She’ll save herself.”

Natasha gave him that lopsided smile. 

Steve tapped the time travel device and the suit enclosed him, the platform forming underneath his feet. With a deep breath, he looked at all of them, before starting the countdown. Five, four, three, two…one.

**Author's Note:**

> If you make it through this entire thing, you deserve a cookie. Thank you! This is the longest part. The next part is considerably shorter. 
> 
> This story contains non-explicit Steve/Peggy and Steve/Bucky, but they're not with the same Steve. This isn't a love triangle or a threesome story. All relationships depicted are more about companionship and friendship than romance. The focus is on Steve Rogers and his journey through the alternate years. As with the earlier parts, this story is intended to be gen.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://hafital.tumblr.com/), where I mostly reblog things that make me laugh.
> 
> Please [reblog](https://hafital.tumblr.com/post/616203918847918080/the-alternate-years-chapter-1-hafital-marvel) if you're so inclined. Thank you for reading!


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